


Savoir

by chalametal



Series: The Sentir Duology [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Empath, Enoch also needs a hug, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Neville/Male OC is only really background, No Beta, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, book 2 of 2, emotional legilimency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-01-07 20:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalametal/pseuds/chalametal
Summary: Draco just wants to protect Enoch & Enoch just wants to keep Draco safe.Spotify playlist: 'Savoir' @ yungchild





	1. Prologue

Dear Draco,

I haven't seen you at school so I assume you left early. I hope you left early and something didn't happen to you at the tower. There have been rumours going around that you were involved. Everyone believes you're a Death Eater now. Are you? Don't answer that if you don't want to. That doesn't matter. Are you okay? Are you safe?

We had the funeral today for Professor Dumbledore. There's no more classes so you aren't missing a lot. Some people are saying they won't be coming back next year. Will you be coming back?

Please be safe.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers  
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  


Dear Draco,

I haven't heard back from you but I assume you're just busy. I realised it was a full moon and that made me think of you. I hope it wasn't a bad one for you. I also hope you have time to rest after it. Don't overwork yourself.

It's been rather quiet here. Philip visited recently but other than that it's just been me, Maman and Papa. We'll be travelling to France soon, to visit my grandparents. I've been missing France so it'll be nice to go back.

I still hope to hear from you.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers   
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  
  


Dear Draco,

I wish you were here. It's nice at the villa. I don't have to do anything, just eat and sleep and sometimes Mamie makes me go down to the sea with her. It's really relaxing. Yesterday, I spent most of the day following Pépé around as he told me stories I've already heard before.

When I was a baby and they were babysitting me, Mamie had to rescue a unicorn foal whose mother had been killed. I don't remember it at all, but apparently it licked my hand. Pépère says that's when he knew I was special but I think he's just saying things. He says things like that all the time. The foal licked his hand too, according to Mamie.

How are you? You're still alive, aren't you? (That was a joke.)

[_Something is scribbled out, hidden under heavy biro lines_.]

I miss you. Please write as soon as you can.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers  
  
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  
  


[_A lemon candy drops from the letter as Draco opens it, falling onto his lap. Slowly, he picks it up and unwraps it. The sourness burns his mouth as he reads the letter_.]

Dear Draco,

We went into town today and I was allowed to buy a whole heap of things. I tried to pay with my own money but Mamie wouldn't let me, so that was nice even though I feel guilty. It was also the first time I've been out around people in a little while. I forgot how noisy it is. But the gloves helped! I still have the gloves you gave me. Pépé thinks they're amazing. Every time I wear them, he has something to say about the quality of them. He sounds like an expert but I'm not sure he knows a thing about gloves.

I'll be going home soon though. Maman has some work to do so we're cutting the trip early. Maybe we could meet up sometime. Unless you're busy.

I put a lolly in in case you needed it. I have a heap now so I can send you more if you want.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers  
  
  


**. . .**  
  


[_A previously dry letter is now sprinkled with a few dried tear drops, worn from the constant folding and unfolding it has experienced._]

Mon Loup,

Not much has happened here, it's pretty quiet now that we've returned home. I don't have much to say. I still haven't heard from you but I'm sure you have your reasons and I don't mind. So long as you're safe and looking after yourself, that's all I want. I still care about you a lot. Please take care of yourself. Maybe when all this is over, we can go to Hogsmeade or something and just do something normal.

Hopefully we can see each other at school. I'll be going back even if it seems like everyone else isn't. I'm sure I'm just being silly but it feels like a piece of me is missing. Maman says that's just worry making everything worse. Still, I miss you a lot.

I'll always be here for you, if you want.

Love,  
Enoch Desrosiers  
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  


Dear Draco,

We're having a large dinner soon with lots of guests (mostly just people Maman knows). It's really boring, but you're invited to come if you want. The food will be good.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers  
  


**. . .**  
  


Dear Draco,

You missed the dinner but I don't blame you. It was as boring as I expected. I had to stand around all evening talking to people. Eventually Papa and I escaped to one of the other rooms and stayed there until Maman found us. The food was good though.

The invitation still stands though. If you want, you could come when it's less busy and boring. You could even stay for dinner if you wanted, or longer. We have a spare room you could stay in. And the food will still be good. Please come if you're able to. But if you can't, that's also okay.

I hope you're well.

From,  
Enoch Desrosiers


	2. Chapter 1

The Malfoy Manor has been defiled, a home turned into a horror. Draco struggles to sleep at night, feeling out of place in his own bed. Each night is filled with tossing and turning, eventually falling asleep to dreams that wake him in a cold sweat; each morning is met with exhaustion, as if he didn't get a single wink of sleep.

It's late into the evening as he sits in _his_ drawing room, but none of his family's ownership is clear. The old layout of the room has been taken over, replaced with table and chairs surrounding it. All power rests in the creature that sits at the head of the table, commanding, cold aura emanating from his serpentine form. Draco can hardly bring himself to look towards his master, both out of fear and all his focus being consumed by the body floating limply in the air above the table. She hangs so still, she could almost pass as a corpse if it wasn't for the soft, groaning breaths that leave her body as if each action is an agony. She might as well be a corpse—she probably will be soon. Draco recognises her, under the torture-inflicted injuries marring her face, as one of the teachers from Hogwarts. She never taught him and he's almost grateful for that.

"Yaxley, Snape." The Dark Lord hisses as the door clicks behind Draco. The blond doesn't acknowledge it, still staring at the teacher. There's a lump resting in his throat but he pushes it down, desperate to keep his face and mind blank. The two entrants take their seats, chairs sliding against the floor, and the discussions start. Draco's attention is only captured once he hears the mention of Potter's name, drawing his gaze to Snape as he recounts the Orders' plan to the Dark Lord. He watches as the Dark Lord's mouth curves into a dark smile, something that sends an involuntary shiver down Draco's spine and haunts his nightmares.

The discussion continues, on the false trails and their hold on the Ministry, then back to Potter's plans according to Snape. All the while, the Dark Lord's red eyes remain focused on the body floating above them, unperturbed by her appearance or presence. A cry, not from the teacher, someone else suffering in the Malfoy Manor, fills in the brief pause; Draco glances at his feet, where the sound seems to have come from, and tries to hide his unease.

"Wormtail, it seems our guest needs to be reminded of their manners." Their serpentine leader prompts, still not looking away from the body. Once Wormtail has left the room and the cries have stopped, the Dark Lord's gaze drops down from the teacher to those sitting at the table. "If I am to kill Potter, I am going to need another's wand."

No one moves. While none look away from their master, all seem eager to avoid drawing attention to themselves. To lose a wand would be to practically lose a limb. The Dark Lord's gaze stops on Draco's father, a tired, sickly looking man who still hasn't seemed to recover from his time in Azkaban.

"Lucius, I see no reason for you to have your wand."

"My Lord?" Draco's father's voice is hoarse when he speaks, reluctant as would anyone sitting at this table.

"Your wand, Lucius." As Lucius glances at his wife through the corner of his eye, who only maintains her same, neutral expression, the Dark Lord gets to his feet and glides towards his seat, dark robes swishing with each movement. He holds out a thin hand expectantly; at this, Lucius wastes little time retrieving it from his robes and offers it up to his master. The serpentine creature hovers near Draco's chair and the blond can't bring himself to even look at him in his peripheral vision. His gaze drops to the other side, staring at the polished edge of the table. Like father, like son, they both involuntarily flinch as the Dark Lord snaps Lucius' decorative hilt. "What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord."

"And the core?"

"Dragon heartstring, my Lord."

"Very good." There's a clatter as the hilt is thrown on the table, eliciting another flinch from the two blond males. The Dark Lord's gaze remains fixated on Lucius' uncomfortable form, while Draco's own unwillingly lifts to the body again. It horrifies him, staring at someone he might have passed daily, floating in the air, so close to death. The more he stares, the more he knows it will be burned into his mind and visit him in his sleep, and yet he still can't look away. "Does my presence displeasure you, Lucius? I sense you and your family seem less happy of late..."

"Of course not, my Lord." Lucius stammers as his wife gives a stiff nod in support. Draco dares a look at the Dark Lord, but it lasts less than a second before he averts his gaze once more.

"There is no greater pleasure, my Lord." Bellatrix speaks up from her sister's side, the only one looking towards their master. At this, the serpentine smiles.

"That means a great deal from you, Bellatrix." Something in the smile turns teasing, colder and malicious. "Even higher than the pleasure your family must be experience after recent events, I wonder?

There's a beat and the emotion in Draco's aunt turns to confusion, her brow furrowed, "I'm not sure what you mean, my Lord."

"Your niece. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You all must be so proud." Embarrassment burns in the Malfoy family as the rest of the group laughs and jeers at them, raucous noise that relieves the tension that previously hung in the air. All the tension except that which turns the Malfoy family rigid, even Bellatrix as her face turns an angry red.

"She's no family of ours. We haven't seen our sister since she tainted the family by marrying that Mudblood." Bellatrix exclaims with disgust dripping in her tone. Draco hears the robes rustle and knows the Dark Lord is moving again. But the movement is far, stopping on the other side of Draco's chair.

"What say you, Draco?" The blond's heart lurches in his throat as he hears his name spoken. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

The laughter erupts again. Oxygen suddenly feeling hard to find, Draco looks towards his mother and father desperately. All he gets in response is a sharp shake of the head from Narcissa, a concerned glint in her eye that quickly drops back into neutrality. He then loses her gaze as she returns to staring at the wall opposite, and he feels alone once again. Following her lead, he looks back to the table. If he looks closely, underneath the glow of the candles, he can see the pattern of a knot in the wood. He fixates on this.

The Dark Lord calls silence with a wave of his wand, causing the body floating above them to suddenly come to live. Draco hears the groans become much louder and is unable to keep his gaze from her. The woman starts fighting against her bonds weakly, little energy in her body, gasping as if every action causes pain.

"Our guest... Severus, I suspect you would recognise her." In response to the Dark Lord, the teacher nods his head once.

As if on cue, the woman gasps, "Severus... please..." Draco is reminded of Dumbledore and his final words. He wonders, how many times has someone pleaded with Snape for their life, begged him to save them? How many has people has he stared at with such cold, empty eyes? He wonders, if it might ever be his turn.

"And you, Draco?" The blond tenses again. He shakes his head quickly, desperate to avoid association with the woman. "For those of you who do not recognise her, this is Charity Burbage, a former teacher at Hogwarts. She taught Muggle Studies—she would try to corrupt our young, impressionable witches and wizards, have them believe that we are no better than the mudbloods. Not only that, but she recently branched out to the broader population, attempting to infect them with her thinking too. She, as she wrote to the _Daily Prophet_, would have us mate with the Muggles. She would likely have us mate with _werewolves_ too, no doubt."

The jab, clearly intended for Remus Lupin, still stings Draco.

The teacher continues to beg for her life, looking to Snape every time he falls within her vision. This continues, filling Draco's ears, until green light fills the room like lightning. Then, the only noise that comes from her is the crash of her body landing against the table. She lands near Draco, body almost hitting him, and he's unable to stop himself from recoiling. He collapses out of his chair, landing him at the Dark Lord's feet. Staring at the dark robes barely metres away from him, he finds himself paralysed in fear. His breath catches in his throat and he watches as the robes slide away.

"Dinner, Nagini." His master's voice hisses casually, growing more distant. Draco hears the snake slither across the table above him and is suddenly grateful he is unable to see it. He feels arms reach around his—his father—pulling him back to his seat. By then, the snake is making quick work of the corpse, but it's enough. The vision returns to Draco later, after sleep has finally taken him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But first, he lies awake in his dimly lit room. The Bear, as it has come to be named, lies on his stomach, an imperceptible weight but one that still brings comfort. Resting in his shaking hands is a letter, one he has read over and over, one he knows almost word for word, that he still comes to revisit every night. _Mon Loup_. The French words bring him comfort too.

A lemon candy burns his mouth and he wonders if he'd still taste the same to Enoch. A lot has changed since he last saw the brunet. More than scars burn his arm, a twisting reminder of his sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord, a reward for his hard work. Now, the rumours at school can finally hold some truth.

With a sigh, having finished the letter for the third time this evening, Draco carefully puts it back in its envelope and slips it under his pillow. He picks up The Bear and lets it drop onto his face, almost as if its hugging him. The soft fur caresses his face and the smell of lavender envelopes him. Hand still resting on it, he can feel the rough edge of the tag that rests against its leg. Nights of no sleep has given him plenty of time to read that, memorising it as well.

_Handwash only_... He still needs to ask Enoch what that means. If the brunet will ever speak to him again after this.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The large man was thrown onto the floor carelessly. The Dark Lord storms the room, robes billowing, anger clear in every step. His serpentine face has contorted into a horrific vision of cold rage, directed towards the man cringing on the Malfoy's polished floor. He turns his gaze to the family that hovers nearby, near statues in their silence. He gestures at the youngest, who hesitates.

"Draco, come here. Rowle has wasted all our time, failing to bring us Potter, and needs to learn his lessons. You will give it to him." On stiff legs, the blond takes a few steps forward under the red eyes' gaze. He retrieves his wand, unable to control the tremble in his hands, and points it towards Rowle. "Let him feel pain, so he won't be tempted to fail us again."

Licking his lips, Draco stammers a, "_Crucio_," but the spell lands flat. Rowle flinches, anticipating a pain that doesn't arrive. Adjusting his grip on the wand, heart hammering as he watches the Dark Lord's gaze grows colder, he tries once more. Desperate to keep himself alive, in one piece, he puts more emphasis behind it. _It's him or Rowle_, he tells himself. _Him or Rowle_.

The other blond man screams, writhing in agony. It's not enough, however; the Dark Lord's expression remains impassive. Taking the lack of response as a lack of approval, the youngest blond tries to place more power behind it. This draws a howl from Rowle, his body contorted and twitching but no longer thrashing wildly. The screams of pain become tight, constricted whines, a face turning bright red. Draco feels bile rise in his throat, burning. It's enough to stop the spell, bringing the man some relief.

"You called me back, not to tell me you had Potter, but that he was within your grasp and _escaped_." The Dark Lord's voice hisses as he stands over Rowle, looking down at him as if he were a particularly offensive piece of dirt. "I am not sure I can forgive this mistake, Rowle. Would you like more, in the hopes the lesson might set in, or should I feed you to Nagini?" The man only manages an incomprehensible whimper, perhaps intended to be words but unable to form them. "Draco, let Rowle taste our displeasure once more." The blond is not quick enough to cast the spell, drawing attention back to him. "Or, should I let you taste my wrath as well?"

Rowle's screams are the Dark Lord's answer. He watches with little pleasure, the lack of emotion even more off-putting. Once he is satisfied with the pain, the Dark Lord leaves their house. Only once he has gone, does Draco allow himself to collapse. He feels someone wrap their arms around him as the bile rolls freely, uncontrollably, up his throat and he's unable to stop it from dirtying his floor. He tries to apologise to his mother, holding him, but she shakes his apologies away. Pushing his hair off his forehead, she whispers soothingly to him until his stomach seems settled and the mess can be spelled away.

"It's okay, it's okay." She whispers even after the mess is gone, as is Rowle, and he's just curled up in her arms. His father is somewhere nearby, Draco's sure, but he doesn't make himself present. "You did what you had to do. To survive. That's what matters. It's okay. You're okay."

But Draco isn't so sure. If he had to describe how he was feeling, 'okay' would be far from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates on this sequel. I've been forgetting to upload them here so this story is a little behind. BUT I'll make it up to you by spam updating


	3. Chapter 2

The house is quiet. Alistair Desrosiers is at work, Odeda off in the kitchen, and Enoch's grandparents in another room. Enoch himself is trying to keep himself occupied by watching television, sitting in their second living room, the only magic-less room designed to make sure they aren't totally disconnected from the non-magic world. Something is playing on the television, but he doesn't know what. It's definitely not what was playing when he started watching the TV, but his attention has long since been lost and no doubt countless shows missed.

He's sulking. Even he knows he's sulking. No matter how many times he says it's okay in his letters, hearing no response from Draco is really starting to hurt. When he invited him over the first time, he'd spent the whole day waiting anxiously for his arrival, desperately hoping he might show up and save the brunet from a night from socialising with the adults. But he hadn't. Now he waits, unable to stop himself from getting his hopes up once again. But it's been days now, and still nothing. Maybe it'll continue to be nothing. It might still be nothing when they go back to school. If Draco even goes back to school...

Gee and Elijah won't be going back—they told him that when they came to visit him. Gee, being Muggleborn, isn't safe to stick around with the way things are developing. So her and her family are going to go do the travelling they always discussed but never got around to doing. Meanwhile Elijah is perfectly in his right to return to Hogwarts for his final year. But, after the death of one Headmaster and the introduction of a new one already introducing new rules, his mother has decided that it's no environment to get any proper study done. So she's taken it upon herself to give him the education she thinks he needs. Which just leaves Enoch and Philip, who will be going back because it's perfectly safe for him to.

There's a flood of herbal tea in Enoch's otherwise empty senses and he peers up over the back of the couch. Odeda is standing at the doorway, hair pulled back in a loose bun, clothes messied with the occasional marks of baking. She gives him a small smile, one backed with some concern, and enters the room properly. She doesn't say anything until she's reached the couch and run her hand affectionately through his dark hair.

"What are you watching?"

"Not sure."

"Still upset, huh?" The brunet can't deny it, can only nod against her fingers, letting out a soft sigh. "No response?"

"No response." He repeats. He can feel the edge of anticipation trickling from her fingers, an attempt to keep something from him.

"I have something that might cheer you up... I'm not making any promises, but we definitely have a guest. Someone Apparated at the driveway." At this, Enoch leaps to his feet. He almost falls over in the process but sheer luck keeps him on his feet. Not waiting for anything else his mother might have to say, the brunet is already running through the halls of the house and out the door. As he's running out the room, Odeda barely manages to get out a, "Be careful!" She just sighs, listening to the doors slam, and hopes she's right.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Since arriving, Draco has barely made it up one metre of the driveway. He's not sure how long the pathway actually is, as a small hill obscures his view, but he knows regardless this is horrible progress to have made. He's spent more time standing still, contemplating the intelligence behind the decision to come here, second guessing everything, than he has actually walking. As it is, it's probably been a few minutes since he's taken a step. He should probably take a step.

Draco takes a step forward. The gravel on the pathway crunches underneath his shoes, dust dirtying the polished dragon leather. Pointlessly, he crouches down to brush the dust away with his fingers. This just leaves his fingers dusty. So, naturally, he has to wipe his fingers on his handkerchief. Now, nice and clean and presentable, he takes a few more steps forward. Then he pauses again, wondering if he should even be here. _Sure_, on one hand, Enoch did invite him; but on the other hand, Draco hasn't responded to a single letter this entire summer. Before Draco can think about it much longer, to either gather up the courage to keep walking forwards or run back to the Malfoy Manor before anyone notices him, the decision is made for him.

He hears him first. A loud, "DRACOOOOOOOOOO!" that seems to echo through the area. Then, the blond's name still hanging in the air, he sees him. There's Enoch, running towards him, in those stupid Muggle clothes that somehow don't look horrible on him. Draco can only stand, stupid, watching the boy grow closer.

He barely has enough time to react when the brunet launches himself at him, wrapping his arms around the old male in a tight hug. Thankfully, reflexes take over where Draco's brain cannot, quickly holding Enoch as he all but collapses onto the blond. Enoch is panting hard, chest heaving into Draco's own, but somehow he's still managing to laugh in between gasps for air. All he can smell is roses. Draco can't see his face, but he can feel what he can only assume is Enoch cheeks muscles stretching into a smile. Sure enough, when Enoch detangles himself from Draco, there's a painfully wide smile on his lips. Something looks off about him. The brunet touches Draco's face, bringing a burst of warmth, a warmth he didn't even realise he'd been missing. Then he realises what's off.

"You cut your hair." Draco comments as he reaches up, touching the somehow tamed dark locks, shorter than they'd been last time the blond saw them, now swept up over his forehead.

"Mamie came at me with scissors. It'd been getting long." The younger justifies with a small chuckle. His accent sounds thicker than the last time the blond heard it. He takes Draco's hand, still touching the hair, and holds it within his hand. It's warm, comforting. "I was beginning to worry you weren't going to show up."

"I was busy." The blond pauses, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry."

"Can you tell me what with?" Draco doesn't want to. He'd much rather Enoch keep living this oblivious life, seeing a good that doesn't exist in the blond. But that's not fair, and he can't. But still, he shakes his head.

"Later. It's not a good topic for walking." The brunet seems to be content with this answer, nodding softly along. At Draco's reminder of the walk ahead of them, they start the slow up walk the pathway. Enoch still hasn't let go of the blond's hand, as if he's afraid he might suddenly vanish if he lets go. "How was France?"

"It was good. I like going back there, even when I'm here home sometimes I get homesick for there." Rather than watching his path ahead, Draco chooses to take this opportunity to take in the rest of Enoch's appearance, other than his short hair. He suddenly feels overdressed in the black suit he always wears, compared to the casual shirt and shorts attire of the younger. Not to mention it's warmer out here than back at the Manor, making him regret the warmer outfit. "The worst was when Mamie made me go fishing with her. I hate fishing. It's just so boring, y'know? But she goes fishing, like, almost daily so we can eat fresh fish and sometimes Pépère can't go with her. But other than that, it's nice."

"Did you get a rose perfume or something?" Draco asks, realising he can still smell the roses. Maybe they have some rose bushes nearby, but he can't see them. And he's only been able to smell them since Enoch has arrived.

"No... I don't wear strong smells."

"I can smell roses. Are there roses nearby?" Enoch shakes his head. But then, ever so slowly, realisation passes over his expression and he laughs.

"I'm sorry. That is me." He swings their clasped hands together by means of gesture. As if to explain, he lets go and, sure enough, the roses go. They come back quickly, as Enoch takes his hand again. "I forgot about that."

"What is it?" The brunet just winks at him, smile still resting on his lips. But Draco notices the way his cheeks have taken on a rosy colour themselves.

As they get over the top of the hill, Draco is able to get a better idea of just how long the path is. It stretches out for a while, clearly going to be a long walk. In the distance, he can see a maintained hedge and the tip of a house behind it. Outside of the hedge, there's a wide stretch of vineyards and what seems to be a farm before a wilder forest takes control.

A low rumble followed by a loud honk from behind them startles the pair, causing both of them to whirl around towards the source of the noise. A large metal contraption that Draco recognises as a Muggle car has driven up behind them, a man grinning behind the window as he waves. The blond feels himself pulled out of the way, off the pathway– _driveway_. The window on the driver's side rolls down as the man pokes his head out.

"You boys need a lift?" He asks. Draco looks uncertainly at Enoch. While he's aware of cars—even Purebloods can appreciate the automobiles to some extent—he's never actually been inside one before. Curiosity and fear burn inside of him, a confusing turmoil of emotions. Enoch makes the choice for him, nodding his head and opening the back door.

"Hi, Papa." Enoch greets the driver as he clambers in the backseat, identifying the man for Draco. A Muggle. The first Muggle Draco has met in any remotely pleasant context. He feels that instinctive tug of judgement but, as he glances at the man, it instantly dies down. There's nothing physically wrong with him, nothing that would immediately differentiate him from Draco. And, he managed to have a child like Enoch. Draco's untainted, pure blood couldn't even produce magic like Enoch's.

The blond tries to mimic the way Enoch hops in, but can't replicate the comfort and ease. He closes the door, watching as Enoch pulls the seatbelt around him, and does the same. "This is Draco."

"Draco! That's why I didn't recognise the face. Hello, Draco!" The older man greets him, looking at him through the mirror. Draco can only see his eyes but he can see the way they curl up into a smile the same way Enoch's do. The car suddenly burst to life again, moving forward up the gravel driveway far faster than Draco can walk. While Draco has been on plenty of rocky broomsticks, there's something about the way the car bumps that sets him on edge. Some type of grip sticks out of the door and he latches onto it, gripping it so tight his knuckles turn white.

"Hello, Mr. Desrosiers." Draco's voice is uncomfortably tight too, which he assumes is why Enoch's father is laughing at him.

"You don't have to be so formal. You can call me Alistair if you want." Draco merely nods, not trusting his voice. The car goes over a bump, jostling the blond. A hand pokes out from over the car seat, a lollipop handing casually from its fingers. "Want a lolly?"

"No, thank you." The hand retreats and, a second later, the same lollipop is thrown at Enoch. The brunet unwraps it and plops it in his mouth. As the car bounces again, Draco can't help but worry he might choke on the stick. But Enoch doesn't seem worried.

"Enoch, you know you've got brooms in the shed, right? Why were you making your guest walk up the driveway?"

"I ran all the way down." Enoch confesses sheepishly, earning more laughter from his father. Draco watches the distance between them and the hedge grow smaller and can't help but feel impressed by Enoch. And a little bit resentful—he'd much prefer a broom to this car. Fortunately, the car makes quick work of the driveway and they've soon parked just outside the hedge. Alistair waits in the car, claiming he needs to unpack things, while Enoch leaves without waiting. Draco struggles to keep up.

Beyond the hedge is a lively garden of flowers and bushes, paths winding in between them. Enoch takes the main path that leads them to a large, two-story house. A chicken crosses Draco's path, clucking lazily. Inside the house is a small foyer filled with shoes. There's far too many shoes, but Enoch still removes his and adds them to the collection. Following suite, Draco does the same, putting his in a spot where he hopes won't be drowned by the sea of shoes.

"You found him, I see." A woman comments as she enters the room. Her dark hair is pulled back into an impeccably neat bun, friendly smile painted a bright red. She holds a hand out to the Slytherin boy, "Pleasure to meet you, Draco Malfoy. I'm Odeda."

Odeda Desrosiers, in the flesh. A complete disgrace to purebloods, but you wouldn't know by looking at her. Just like you wouldn't know Alistair Desrosiers is even lesser. Draco shakes the woman's hand, a firm shake from a warm hand.

"Thank you for having me."

"You're always welcome. Can I get you anything?" Before Draco can answer, two loud, French voices interrupt them as an older couple enter the room.

"_All I'm saying is if you wrote a list like I said, you wouldn't have forgot to pack it._" The woman scolds her husband, half-hearted scowl on her expression. Having received an extensive education on Purebloods, especially those that are noteworthy, Draco recognises Valérie Desrosiers and her husband.

"_I did write a list. I clearly just didn't write that on the list._" Her husband, clearly Benoît Desrosiers, responds, receiving a tired huff from his wife.

"_Well, whose fault is that? Oh! Benoît, a guest._"

"_Hello, I'm Draco._" The blond introduces himself quickly, awkwardly slipping into a language he hasn't practiced in a while, wanting to make sure they knew he could understand them. He keeps his sentence short, hoping his discomfort isn't noticeable. Enoch just gapes at him, suddenly jabbing him in the side.

"You speak French?" Draco just nods. Valérie Desrosiers is watching him carefully, searching his face for something. He shuffles uneasily under her gaze. "But I've insulted you in French!"

"And I've insulted you in English. We're even."

"_You can call me Mamie, this is __Pépé__. If you ever need anything, you just ask, okay?_" The woman interrupts the pair with a warm smile. "_Any friend of Enoch's is family to me_."

Once greetings seem to be over, Enoch drags Draco up the stairs and into one of the first doors on the second story. It opens into a comfortably sized room, the wooden beams exposed against cream wall. A desk is covered in papers, a disorganised mess that continues onto an equally disorganised bookshelf beside it. Enoch's bed is far too big for one person, but clearly slept in.

"I swear I didn't tell Mamie _anything_." Enoch assures the blond once his door clicks shut. Draco just frowns, confused, watching the brunet move easily through the room. "I didn't want to tell them anything in case—well, with all the silence, I wasn't sure if things between us had changed."

"I didn't think you'd told her..."

"She knows something. Any friend of mine is _not_ family. Only special people are family, and most of them are actual family. Sometimes not even family is family. Mamie is scary, she can read people too well." The Hufflepuff keeps talking, shaking his head. He starts pushing some the things on his floor out of the way, into smaller piles. "Once, back in France, there was this boy I was hanging out with. Didn't really like him but he always managed to get the biggest fish and I needed to know how. Mamie met him _once_ and after she was like, '_Enoch, you are not allowed to spend time with that boy_'."

"What happened?"

"He was stealing the fish, couldn't even fish himself. It was just disappointment all around." Draco can't help but chuckle at this, at the clear frustration etched across the younger's face. Enoch flops backwards onto the bed, bouncing softly against the mattress. When he's stopped bouncing, he pats the space beside him; Draco takes the hint and sits down beside him. "Has things changed?"

"Some things have changed but I think you should be the one to decide if our things have too."

"Can you tell me what now?" With a soft sigh, Draco lies back on the bed as well. It's easier lying beside the brunet, staring at the ceiling, than having to look down at him.

"How much do you know?"

"You helped Death Eaters into Hogwarts, Snape killed Professor Dumbledore. That's what everyone at school was saying."

"They're pretty correct. The Dark Lord gave me a task last year. I had to kill Dumbledore, die trying, or he'd kill me and my family. I think he wanted me to die, as more punishment for my father for failing him. But I didn't—I didn't kill Dumbledore but I was successful enough." Enoch rolls over onto his side, head propped up on his hand. Concern paints his face in a sad expression, eyebrows furrowed. "The Dark Lord was pleased with me, with what I did, and he..." Draco pauses, something rises up in his chest. "He... It was supposed to be a gift, a great honour. He kept saying that. I should be so proud."

"What did he do?" Draco can't bring himself to say it. Every attempt constricts his throat, refusing to utter the words. Instead, he unbuttons his left sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. There, sitting amongst the scars, the dark branding of his allegiance to the Dark Lord stains his arm. Draco can still remember the pain that burnt his arm when he was given it, the white hot agony. Apparently it shouldn't have hurt so bad, but his body wouldn't let it take. His mother had blamed his age. "I don't see how that'd be such a great honour. But I also don't see how that changes anything."

"I'm a Death Eater now. You know all those times you asked? I really am one now. I'm one of his servants." The brunet, somehow, doesn't seem concerned by this. "I've done things, Enoch. I-I've hurt people."

"Did you want to do it?"

"No, but that's beside the point. I'm at his beck and call, all he has to do is ask and I have no choice."

Enoch lets out a sigh, "Mon Loup, if you'd changed drastically, I'd be able to feel it. You're still the same person I knew last year. Nothing has changed there."

"Maybe nothing's changed because I was right and the evil was already there."

"There's no evil there."

"What if I get asked to hurt you?"

"I don't know where you get the idea that I'm completely hopeless from." A mischievous smile twitches against Enoch's lips, a glimmer in his eye. "I've beat you before, haven't I?"

"You have." Draco admits with a soft sigh of resignation. While he's not convinced, he knows a lost argument when he sees one. The mischief in Enoch's expression softens down into fondness, smile only growing wider. Draco can smell roses again.

"_Tu es parfait_." The brunet says, slipping into French. He pokes Draco's with a finger, which spreads out and becomes a whole hand resting warmly against his chest. Draco is certain he probably felt the way his heartbeat picked up.

"I don't understand you."

"Sure you do. You just don't want to accept it."  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


While Draco had never planned on staying the night, expecting to be thrown out once he revealed that he's a Death Eater, Enoch decides for him that he should stay. 'To make up for all the silence,' he claimed. Then, the brunet made another decision for the pair—they were going to watch a Muggle movie, because Draco had never seen one before. Romeo and Juliet, Enoch had explained, was one of his favourites and an adaptation of a Muggle playwright's play. Enoch can also lend him the book, if he wants.

Despite his initial low expectations, Draco finds himself watching. And despite his better judgement, he finds himself enjoying it. It's not something he'd typically enjoying and he blames Enoch for that. The younger has, part way through the movie, curled up against the blond, head resting on his shoulder.

"Your shoulder is bony." Enoch comments as he squirms.

"Your head is bony." This seems to settle the younger. Or, at least, something in the movie captures his attention enough to quieten him. Draco does the same, requiring more attention to avoid getting lost in how Muggle it is.

By the end of the movie, Draco would definitely deny how upset it made him. However, it's nothing something he can hide from Enoch. The brunet doesn't comment, doesn't even tease him; he just lets him watch the ending credits, the rolling names, in silence. He grows aware of the hand tightening around his own and wonders how different they are to the couple that had previously taken up the screen.

Wherefore art thou Enoch, indeed.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Move over." Enoch whispers in the darkness, suddenly appearing beside Draco's temporary bed. The blond frowns, doing as he's told, and listening to the rustle of his blankets at the brunet shuffles in beside him. "I need some light. Get your wand."

Draco reaches for his wand, illuminating the room to reveal Enoch's face hovering near his own, a notebook in his hands. This, he gives to Draco, placing it on his chest as he goes to sit up.

"What is it?" Draco asks, glancing at the well-used book. It's definitely Muggle, though the blond is hardly surprised.

"It's a notebook. I wrote in it. When I was younger, Pépère and I made up a secret language; given you know French, it makes me life easier because I don't have to teach you that anymore, but this should teach you the secret language."

"Why?"

"Because." The brunet pauses, making Draco think that's the rest of his reason. "It's easier to talk in secret when only three people in the world know the language you're talking in." There's another pause, punctuated by a yawn. "And I trust you. I wanted to give it to you."

"I'll read it before school goes back."

"There's tests, to make sure you understand what you're reading. Make sure you do them."

"Are you going to assess me on it too?"

"Yes. Just make sure you read it."

Enoch doesn't go back to his bed that night. Instead, deciding he wants to whisper more in the dark, he curls up beside the blond and does exactly that. He talks about everything from snippets of stories from France to detailing his favourite movies that he thinks Draco should watch next time. Draco thinks he lingers on this Leonardo guy just to make him jealous. It doesn't work. But, eventually, the brunet falls asleep. His emotions roll over Draco in small waves, unrestrained by conscious control. Slowly, Draco finds himself being lulled to sleep by the warmth.

And, for once, he doesn't dream. 


	4. Chapter 3

There is a heavy, foreboding atmosphere hanging in the air of the Great Hall. Even the sky is dark with clouds, the threat of rain not far away. The chatter is still there, but it's quieter than the last year. There's no singing, no laughter, no jokes. Just students trying to maintain some normality under the watchful eye of teachers old and new, all very aware that this year will be like no other. Enoch can't even taste his food, no matter how hard he tries to block it out. The fear is too strong, too prevalent amongst the student body. He tries to eat, knowing he has to fill his stomach even if he doesn't want to, but there's no enjoyment in it.

Philip sits beside him, one small comfort. He sits as close as possible to Enoch, arms pressed against each other; realistically, it's too close, cramping both of them as they eat, but neither are eating enough for it to be a bother. While his presence there isn't unexpected, the pair—and those around him—aren't sure if he's _supposed_ to be there. Under the stern, watchful of Snape, followed by the recently employed Death Eaters, the whole school feels stricter already. But no one says anything, no one draws attention to him, and they try to keep him as inconspicuous as possible. Neither boy wants to be separated from the other, not now.

"Want some pudding?" Philip asks, holding the cutlery poised above the platter. Enoch quickly shakes his head and the older boy passes the cutlery along. He's put a pudding on his own tray but he doesn't make any move to eat it. When he does, none of the food makes it to his mouth. It just ends up broken up, like he intended to eat it but couldn't work up the motivation. Eventually the destroyed pudding, crumbs spread across his plate, is discarded with a sigh. Sensing a spike in the hopelessness, Enoch places a gloved hand over Philip's. It doesn't do anything but provide the contact, the briefest whisper of an increase in the connection, but it seems to be enough for the Gryffindor. He gives him a tired smile.

"Things are going to be different this year, aren't they?" It's a stupid question with an obvious answer, but it's one Enoch needs to ask anyway. Philip nods. The empath had always known his final year would be different from the rest—but he'd assumed it would be the type of difference filled with excitement, the anticipation of it almost being over, the pressure of finality, it all coming to a close. But he had never predicted the threat of this kind of finality, this kind of stress.

"Definitely. But we'll be okay." Philip assures him, putting on a braver smile. He twists his hand around so he can wrap his fingers around Enoch's, giving his hand a small squeeze. As if Philip was an empath himself, Enoch feels a little bit of his fear slip away.

Until Snape gets to his feet and moves to stand where Dumbledore had stood a year ago. Silence quickly falls over the already quiet students as they notice his dark gaze, attention fixed on him.

"This year, there will be some... changes. Professor Alecto and Amycus Carrow will be teaching the revised Muggle Studies and Dark Arts respectively. Every night, before dinner, you will all be marching through the Courtyard; hopefully that will consume any rebellious energy anyone might have." There's a pause and Snape's gaze travels across the sea of silent students. A pin drop could have been heard, but even that doesn't happen. "Swift punishments will be enacted on anyone who should find themselves still feeling rebellious. Additionally, anyone who is found to know of or have assisted Harry Potter, and does not confess to doing so, will quickly... regret doing so. Anyone who aids in the search will be generously rewarded."

Enoch had never been completely fond of the teacher last year, but he'd never found any reason to hate or fear him. His emotions had reassured him that there was at least some degree of good in him. But now, unable to sense anything across the ocean of vinegar and the distance between them, he's not so sure. But he can't bring himself to doubt his previous impression—if he doubts this one, what's to stop him from doubting his others?

He glances towards the Slytherin table, gaze scanning the students until he spots that familiar head of pale blond hair. Draco barely stands out amongst the others, but he's sitting in just the right spot to peek through the heads across the tables when they're not moving around. As Snape pauses once more, the blond's eyes flicker towards the Hufflepuff table; there's too much distance between them, too little reaction, to know if they really make eye contact or if Enoch is just being hopeful. Regardless, it makes him feel a little better.

The generic but necessary warnings of the forest and shifting staircases, likely for the first years' benefit, follows the cold warning. Once these are done, students are dismissed and Philip and Enoch go their separate ways. Suddenly without his friends, surrounded only by housemates, the brunet feels incredibly alone. It sits in the pit of his stomach, churning the food he'd forced down. He swallows down the sadness, but it's hard to ignore it when it's only reflected in those around him. Each attempt to beat it is only fought with waves of reinforcement.

Reaching into his pocket, he takes a lemon candy, unwraps it slowly, and lets that sit in his mouth. It provides a small comfort.

"This year is going to be a lot different from the others." A prefect informs the group that's now collected in the Hufflepuff dormitory, as another spreads around the brownies that aren't taken with as much as excitement as last year. Most first years linger, listening to the older student, while a lot of the others amble off to bed. Enoch is amongst the small collection that choose to stay, not wanting to sleep yet. "It's probably going to be tougher, and I'm sure a lot of you are scared right now, but it'll be okay. We'll all be okay. This year, we're just going to have to look out for one another, especially you first years. But we're all going to work together—we're all on the same team."

"Well, _most _of us." One of the older Hufflepuffs mutters, receiving a disapproving frown from the prefect. Despite this, a few other students around her nod their head in agreement, throwing disgusted looks into the air.

"Perhaps, but that's not what matters. What matters is that we're all going to get through this together, no matter what happens." A small glimmer of hope, like a distant island in a raging sea, blossoms in Enoch's senses. It's only faint, but it's enough. It reassures him, grants him with a little bit of hope himself. He starts to allow himself to believe the prefect's words.

Maybe things will be okay.  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Enoch hadn't liked the DADA classroom last year, but he hates the Dark Arts room even more. It's a smaller class, with an almost empty classroom except for the desks and chairs, and the teacher is a man who smells like something rotten and tastes bitter, the kind that makes you want to gag. He leers as the students take their seats, a dark glimmer in his eye.

"No more learning about Defense Against the Dark Arts for you lot. This year, you'll be learning something more important—how to cast them." The man, Amycus Carrow, lets out a wheezy laugh as if he'd just said something hilarious. The rest of the room is silent, a sense of dread hanging in the air. Enoch can taste it, almost overpowering the rot from the teacher. "We'll start out with a demonstration. I'll do the demonstrating with one of you, the rest'll watch how I do it."

"You can't do that!" One of the Gryffindors exclaims indignantly, the first sign of life from any of the students. All the others look towards him nervously, worried for him but not willing to stand up as well. Not when Carrow's lopsided grin turns so sadistic.

"Got a volunteer then, have we? C'mon, up you get. Up the front of the class where everyone can see you." The Gryffindor stands his ground, glaring at the professor. There's beat before Carrow's grin drops. His face turns cold and all Enoch can taste is chilli. Wave upon wave of anger that he struggles not to choke on. "Get up here. _Now_." When the student doesn't move, Carrow draws his wand and points it at the student. "_Imperio_."

Now, the student obeys quite easily. Brow furrowed, each movement stiff, he moves to the front of the class and comes to a halt. He watches the professor as the smile returns back to his lips, a wheezing laugh close by. The student seems to be trying to fight the curse, face contorted and turning red, but nothing is working. It gives Carrow plenty of time to use his second Unforgivable Curse for the class.

"_Crucio_!" The boy is finally able to break through the bonds that held him, but only to scream in agony as the curse hits him. His body twists, tensed and twitching, racked with pain. Even from the other side of the classroom, Enoch can feel the pain radiating from him. Horror and agony washes over the brunet, attacking his senses. Carrow laughs maniacally, sadistic pleasure emanating from his body. The rot grows worse, rolling around with the torture, overwhelming the brunet. Enoch tried to hide it but a few tears escape his eyes regardless, squeezing through his clenched eyes.

A hand hits his shoulder, jolting him against the desk; it's a rough, unexpected shove, but one that brings a sudden burst of mint. The sharp edge of the mint cleans Enoch's senses, giving him the chance to get control over them. When he looks up, one of Draco's friends—Theo—is staring at him, hand still holding his shoulder. His expression is polite, friendly but nothing suspicious, but Enoch can sense the concern and confusion rolling underneath.

"Hay fever is the worst, isn't it?" The Slytherin comments as he offers his handkerchief to Enoch. "Sometimes even Pomfrey's potions can't fix it." Enoch doesn't know what he's talking about but something in other boy's face says, '_Play along_'. So he just nods, taking the handkerchief.

Theo stays there, waiting for his handkerchief, until Carrow has finished with his demonstration. Only once the teacher has released the Gryffindor does Theo take the handkerchief and let go of Enoch. He returns to his seat, one or two away from the brunet's own. The Gryffindor collapses to the ground, panting, as Carrow cackles once more.

"You gotta mean your spells. If you don't mean them, there's no power behind them. You're not gonna hurt anyone if you don't really want to hurt them. Make sure you remember that, gonna be on your practical." The teacher informs the rest of the his uneasy class. All their expressions seem to mirror the same thought—how could any of them _want_ to hurt someone like that?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco is avoiding Enoch. The brunet hadn't been sure at first, in case he just happened to be busier than last year, or just inconveniently never around the other. But no, he's definitely avoiding him. Every attempt to initiate some sort of contact with the blond has just resulted in a blank gaze, a quick retreat, complete dismissal. It's even worse than last year, which at least had Draco acknowledging his existence with his cold comments; now he can't even get that.

He watches as the blond disappears into the crowd, ignoring Enoch's attempt to get his attention. Rejection turns to frustration which just turns to despondency. He lets out a soft, sad sigh, feeling so alone once again. His ferret climbs out his pocket, clawing his way down his robes. Enoch watches as he disappears into the crowd, a flash of white avoiding the dark shoes stepping carelessly on the floor. Something catches in Enoch's throat, concern and loneliness filling him to the brim, and he forgets how to move.

A hand grips his own, just above the gloves, right against the skin—a wash of cool and concern, not for others but for him, takes his own emotions. Philip is standing beside him, watching him. Enoch doesn't even need to feel his emotions to sense the concern he holds for the younger boy. It's right there, painting his face. Enoch can't even give him a false but reassuring smile, any kind of attempt to brush off the concern. After class, then Draco and his ferret leaving him, he's starting to feel as if nothing is ever going to be okay again. He's terrified, feeding off all the fear everyone else is emanating.

Without saying anything, Philip pulls him into a tight hug. That says everything he needs to say. A quiet sob leaves Enoch's body and he's never quite felt as homesick as he does right now. He just wants to go home, where it's safe, where the protection of his parents are. But he can't. He won't leave Philip, who needs the Hufflepuff just as he much as needs him. He'll just have to survive one more year.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco is sitting in the library, studying now that he can actually focus on his classes rather than that impossible task. All year, he'd just wanted to do something normal, like some assigned reading or an essay. But now that the opportunity is here, he finds it impossible to focus. He hasn't lost all of his responsibilities yet, either—the mark on his arm places him a step up above his fellow students, with different expectations and tasks. But still, re-reading the same line of his Potions book is still a distraction and he appreciates it all the same.

But even his distraction is interrupted by a white ferret jumping on top of his book. Instantly, the blond looks around to see if his owner is nearby, but fortunately he doesn't see anyone. The ferret sits down, glaring right at him with the angriest expression any animal has ever given him. Guilt sparks in his stomach, and he knows he deserves the look. Still, he attempts to touch him, to give him some kind of apology, but instead the ferret bites his finger. Not a friendly nip, but one that stings and causes him to yelp. Sucking on his finger, he glares back at the ferret.

"What did I do?" As if in response, the ferret starts chirping at him angrily. The blond finds himself listening to the meaningless noises, imagining that Enoch's pet is actually telling him off. The guilt supplies the noises with words and he doesn't even realise before he's responding once again. "I know I'm ignoring him. I can't help it, okay? I don't like this as much as you." The ferret chirps again. "That isn't an excuse—it's _dangerous_. He could get hurt, or even killed... Do you want that? Look, I understand it's not the best situation, but it's all I've got. I just need some time." Draco receives an implacable stare, which causes him to let out a resigned sigh. "Okay, fine, wait there."

Tearing a piece of his parchment, Draco quickly scrawls out a quite note to Enoch. In the coded French, he writes: '_I'm sorry, I'm being watched. You can T, P & B. Don't trust C and G. None know about emotions._' He pauses, about to complete the message as that, before he adds: '_I miss you. -D._'The ferret waits, still sitting on his book, until the blond has rolled it up into a small bundle. He takes one look at the ferret and places an Impervius charm on the parchment.

"Give this to him. This is the best I can do right now, okay?" With a small nod—or, at least, that's what Draco interprets it as—the small creature takes the role of parchment within his mouth. Now, he accepts a scratch behind the ears. Then, with one last frown at Draco, the ferret scampers off. Watching him go, the blond hopes that will be enough. It isn't really, not for either of them, but it's all he has right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters being titled "Chapter 3. Chapter 2" etc is really bothering me and also screwing up my ability to count. Remind me to never have a prologue chapter explicitly called a prologue chapter ever again


	5. Chapter 4

"Did you hear about Malfoy?" At the mention of the Slytherin, in the Hufflepuff dormitory of all places, Enoch's attention is instantly caught. He doesn't bother moving from where he's curled up in his bed, but he does pull the doona down just enough that his ear is no longer uncovered.

"What did he do this time?" Another voice asks from somewhere in the room.

"Apparently he's being made to punish students now. Someone said he was supposed to punish some first years but instead of doing it, he just made them scream really loud then went and bragged to one of the Death Eaters about how easy it was." There's a scoff from someone, but Enoch doesn't know who.

"Prick probably didn't even know how to cast whatever spell he was told to use."

"Yeah, but he's really one of them now. There's no way that doesn't confirm it. He's a _Death Eater_." The quiet gossip continues, full of hatred towards the blond, but Enoch's attention is lost. None of it is new to him, except that Draco's tests have extended to his own classmates. Combined with his note, his distance makes a little more sense now. But none of it does anything to soothe the uneasy feeling resting in the pit of Enoch's stomach.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Enoch stares at his Alchemy book blankly, desperately hoping the answers might jump out at him if he just stares hard enough. Of course, they won't—the book isn't _that_ magical—but he doesn't have it in him to do any proper study. He's been attempting to do proper study for most of his break and that hasn't got him anywhere. Every time he starts reading, his eyes start to glaze over and he spends five minutes reading the same sentence over and over. Concentration evades him, teases him.

As if to make things harder, or to give him an escape, a dark haired girl sits across from him. She wears the Slytherin colours and Enoch has seen her around Draco before but, other than that, he doesn't recognise her. He certainly doesn't know why she might be sitting down at his desk, watching him so expectantly. She looks incredibly bored, like she doesn't want to be here, and it makes Enoch feel guilty despite not knowing what he might have done.

"Am I interrupting your study, Desrosiers?" The girl asks and Enoch quickly shakes his head, even though she definitely is. "Good. I'm Pansy Parkinson, Draco's friend. I'm supposed to be watching out for you and I just wanted to say, you're making our job really difficult."

"Why are you watching out for me?"

"Because Draco asked me to and he's good at getting what he wants. _I_ don't particularly like this arrangement, but he insisted." Pansy rolls her eyes, letting out a large huff. Once again, Enoch feels that same guilt bubble away in his stomach. It's definitely his own—all this girl feels is bored and tired. "Anyway, I think if this arrangement is going to stay like this, we need to have a talk about drawing attention to ourselves. If you do the wrong thing to the wrong person, you're just going to get yourself hurt and there's only so much we can do then."

"I'm not doing anything wrong." Enoch exclaims, frustrated by the barely veiled accusations being thrown at him.

"You've cried in class, spent another class glaring at the teacher, very obviously stopped focusing in another. Sure, you're not screaming and whining like some of the others are but it's not much better. Catch one of the Carrows on a bad day and they'll use any excuse to have their fun with you."

"I can't help–"

Pansy shushes him, "You can help it. You _have_ to help it. If you don't, your life is about to get so much more miserable and, in turn, so will mine. Look, at least you're not a Gryffindork, they have no sense of self-preservation. You've got a chance, I think. So, how about we work together, okay? We'll keep an eye on you, you don't get yourself in trouble, we all keep Draco happy. Sound good?"

"Is Draco okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine." There's a pause, as Pansy watches The Slytherin girl doesn't seem like she'd be particularly interested in that discussion. She seems to take this as further argument against her, as she continues, "Look, you don't have to agree with what's happening, you don't have to be happy about it, just don't look like you're so against it. Don't go shouting how it's not fair or crying over how horrible it is, keep quiet in front of them and save that for when you're alone."

"Who's 'we'?" Enoch decides to ask while the girl is feeling talkative.

"Blaise, Theo, and I. Collectively we're in most of your classes, except for Alchemy—you're on your own there." The brunet decides not to mention that Draco is in that class; that doesn't seem to be an option. He just nods his head slowly, not feeling at all reassured by these watchful eyes he seems to be receiving. "It's best if we don't associate with each other because... well, that goes against everything Draco is trying to achieve. So you can't talk to us, we won't talk to you. Not unless, y'know, you're doing something stupid like crying in class again."

Pansy leaves not long after, having made her point clear and, as she said, not wanting to be caught with him. That sort of thing starts rumours, especially when one is a Slytherin—or, at least, that's what she claims. Enoch is once again left alone with his book, still unable to find the concentration required to read it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  


"This is the third time. I'm not sure what to do, other than keep him isolated. Maybe a potion to dull his emotions but... I'd rather avoid that, not knowing what the side effects might be." A voice comes into focus—Madam Pomfrey. Enoch finds himself drifting back into consciousness, slowly opening eyes that don't want to be open. He's in the Hospital Wing again. That's unsurprising, as the last thing he remembers is some smaller students—first years, probably—and one of the Carrows. What is surprising is seeing Professor Sprout standing beside Pomfrey at the end of the bed. The stout woman stares down at him with a concerned expression, mirrored in Pomfrey's own face.

"How are you feeling? Madam Pomfrey said you collapsed in the corridor again."

"I'm fine." Enoch lies; the teachers seem to see through the lie, still watching with concern.

"Maybe... if you're having difficulties coping with the emotions, it might be better to finish the year at home." Professor Sprout suggests but the brunet immediately shakes his head.

"I'll be fine. Just been rough, adjusting—got used to not having anyone around." Enoch says quickly, not wanting to risk being sent back home. He can't. There's a moment of silence and Enoch starts to think they're not going to believe him, that they're going to send him back home anyway. But, Professor Sprout nods softly, looking hardly convinced, and turns back to the school nurse.

"I'll have someone send up some things from class later." After Madam Pomfrey nods and, seemingly no longer needed, goes to attend to some of her other patients, Sprout gives him a warm smile. "You just rest up. If you're still having any trouble adjusting, let me know. We'll see if there isn't another option, some adjustments we can make for you."

"Thank you." The care that radiates from the teacher fills Enoch's stomach and battles the fear; it brings a small, uncontrollable quiver to his lips and he's glad she leaves not long after. A warm tear trickles from the corner of his eye, rolling slowly down his cheek. The thought of going home, to his parents and their love and care, is incredibly tempting. He just wants his Maman to hold him, to tell him everything's okay and he'd believe it; he wants his Papa to make some joke, watch a movie with him, make him forget about how bad he's feeling. But neither of them are here.

He quickly wipes the tear away, sniffling softly an effort to clear his nose. Madam Pomfrey gives him a small, sympathetic smile as she passes but thankfully doesn't stop. Despite his loneliness, all Enoch wants is to be left alone right now, to wallow in his sadness. Maybe if he gives it attention, it'll sate itself and leave him alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Enoch is grateful his break comes right after Muggle Studies. By the time the class is over, Enoch feels near exhausted, emotionally and physically. The brunet is by himself, as Philip had to leave him early to go to his own class. Each step is dragged, shoes scrapping against the stone floor of the corridor. He can hear the scuffing sounds and knows if his mother was here, she'd tell him to pick up his feet. But she's not and the soles of his shoes continue to suffer.

A large body of students, all walking different directions but with the same purpose, starts to fill the corridor and surround the brunet. He keeps walking forwards and, as a results, ends up right in the centre of the travelling streams. Shoulders bump his, arms brush his own, emotions flow over him like a broken dam. Fear, happiness, anger, tiredness—all of them build up inside of him. His tongue starts to grow numb, but not in a way that might bring him any reprieve. His smell and taste is overwhelmed, clouded with emotion.

Enoch should know how to handle it—he's spent a whole year working on it—but right now he can't. Right now, his emotions are too high as is and the external ones only feed his own. Even Howie, nudging his skin, can't break through the wash of emotions. The vinegar clogs his throat, constricting it until he feels like he's drowning in it once again. His lungs are full of that sharp, burning fear, any breath he manages aching with effort. And the students just keep coming, a never-ending sea of unconstrained emotions, completely unaware of their effect on the brunet trapped in the centre of them. He tries to escape but it's like swimming against the tide and he's already so tired.

In amongst the vinegar, there's a sudden burst of lemon and Enoch clings to it. The lemon gives him something to grab onto, just like the candy, and he's able to keep afloat just long enough to gain focus. It's barely anything, especially as the group itself hadn't lessened, but it's enough. He feels his arm gets pulled and has enough control over his body to get his feet moving. The grip around his elbow is a little too tight, pulls a little too harshly, but it keeps him grounded in reality.

The noise suddenly lessens as Enoch is pulled into a nearby, empty room. A cool hand presses against his jaw, thumb lightly brushing his cheek. He knows, from the lemon, that Draco must be standing in front of him but he can't seem to recognise any of his surroundings. Still struggling to breathe, he reaches for the hand touching him but a different one intertwines with his.

"Breathe. It's okay." Draco's voice is quiet, both soothingly and as if he's worried they might be overheard. "You're going to faint if you keep this up." Frustration sparks inside of Enoch, barely helping. "Just in, out. Like this," Draco takes a slow, exaggerated breath in before releasing it. He continues to do this, giving Enoch something to follow, until his own breathing manages to settle.

"Thanks." Enoch says once he feels a little calmer, getting a small smile from the blond. As guilt and worry starts to trickle through their contact, Draco pulls his hands away and lets it drop to his side. Enoch can still sense it though.

"I'm really sorry. I don't want to be so distant but things have worsened, not even the school is safe anymore. I don't want to risk you getting in trouble." Draco reaches out once more, brushing against Enoch's gloved hand, before dropping his hand again. "I can't stay long. I was on my way to a... meeting when I saw you."

Before Draco can leave, Enoch pulls him into a hug. The blond doesn't resist—in fact he holds onto Enoch tightly. But the hug doesn't last long, barely a few seconds, before Draco pulls away and disappears from the classroom. Enoch waits a little longer before he also leaves, feeling minutely reassured but mostly just frustrated. He feels completely useless, just some kid that everyone doesn't think can take care of himself. Even kids his age seem to think that, watching over him like some kind of guardian.

As if he doesn't know how to stay safe. He can influence people's emotions, for God's sake!


	6. Chapter 5

_Dear Philip and Enoch,_

_I hope you guys aren't missing me too much. Of course, I expect you're missing me a little, but don't go crazy or anything. I miss you guys too, even if I don't miss school. God, not having to go to school is incredible. I'm just on a year long holiday._

_We were at the beach for the past week and I think I'm starting to get a tan. Dad got burnt and he was as red as a lobster. It was hilarious, though painful for him which only made it funnier. We've been eating in expensive restaurants all week because we'd be stupid not to. Oh, Philip, I had the best burger the other day. Remind me, once all this is over, to figure out how I can take all you boys there. You'd love it. They put beetroot on it. Trust me, it was so good._

("I'm not sure I do trust her..." Philip comments as he reads over Enoch's shoulder, while listening to the younger narrates.)

_I do miss school a little bit, I'll be honest. It's kind of tiring constantly doing things, and then when I'm not doing things I'm bored and want to study. Can you believe it! I miss you boys the most, Elijah as well. I hope he's not being overworked and stressing too much. He says he's fine but you know how he is. He thinks all that studying is a good thing! Poor boy. When I get back from this holiday, we're going on another holiday... I mean, we're going on one together. We're going to have fun. God, I miss you boys so much._

_Enoch: how are things going with you and the ferret? You haven't mentioned him in any letters recently so I hope that doesn't mean anything bad. And if it does, you better tell me so I can beat him up when I get back. If everything is fine, make sure you give him a hug from me and look after him. And yourself. But, well, he's the ferret so I can only imagine he has so many support systems in place and I reckon you're one of the major ones. Oh, and give Howie a pat from me too._

_Philip: if you don't grow a spine and talk to Neville, so help me..._

("Hey! Stop reading, give me that!" Philip exclaims, trying to grab the letter from Enoch's hands. The brunet laughs, trying to push him away as he quickly keeps reading.)

_You're lucky I'm not there right now. A whole letter, just to tell me you haven't said anything! I mean I'm not surprised, we all know what you're like but still..._

(Enoch rolls across the ground as Philip tries tackling him, still attempting to steal the letter. Philip is lying on top of him, but Enoch keeps his arm outstretched as best he can, holding the older boy off as best he can with his other hand.)

_I will not be dealing with a Harry situation all over again. You better have said hi to him, or sat next to him, or something by the time you've sent your next letter. Enoch, I know you're reading this so make sure you hold him to that. And don't try putting off the letter just to avoid him. Neville really isn't that scary, even I'm friendly with him._

_I love you both._

(Philip stops fighting, but doesn't move. Even Enoch relaxes, wrapping the arm pushing the older away around him instead.)

_I miss you too, though I'm sure you've had enough of me saying that. I'm not getting mushy, it's just... I don't know. You know how things are with everything, it changes everything. I don't think I should be taking anything for granted and neither should you two._

_I'll be waiting for you letter and speak to you soon. Let me know about everything, anything you can tell me._

_Lots of love,_   
_Gee._   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Philip lets out the longest sigh Enoch has ever felt and waves of sadness wash over him, intensified by their closeness. The feeling is mutual, though if his expression is anything to go by Enoch thinks Philip might be suffering from it worse. There's a little glossiness to his eyes, which could easily be mistaken for nothing, but the younger knows it's not. He squeezes the arm wrapped around Philip's body a little tighter, hoping that might bring him some comfort.

"I miss her heaps." The Gryffindor finally says after a few seconds of silence, rolling off Enoch and onto his back. However, in the process, he traps Enoch's arm underneath him. As best he can, the brunet shuffles a little until it's more comfortable. He'll probably lose circulation if they stay there too long, but he's sure it'll be fine. "It's obviously not the same here with everything that's happened, but without her it's just even more unbearable. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, I'd die without you. But, y'know how she is." Philip sighs again. "I wish they were both here, but also don't. I just wish things were different."

"I know. I do too. I wish none of this was happening. Or, I wish we could all run away and pretend it wasn't. I keep dreaming about it, but I couldn't."

"It's a nice dream. Might have to add that to my collection." Philip says with a soft smile, ruffling the younger's hair.

"Here, you get to keep this letter. I got the last one." Enoch passes letter to Philip, who just lets it rest on his stomach. There's a small moment of silence, comfortable and comforting, before the younger speaks up again. "So Neville, huh?"

"Merlin, not you too!" The Hufflepuff laughs loudly, probably too loudly, as the Gryffindor lets out an exasperated huff. "It's nothing! I was just telling Gee about how brave he's been, going up against everyone all the time, doing all that Gryffindor stuff, and how it's really cool of him. He's really come into himself lately. Don't give me that look!"

"I can't help it when your emotions are screaming 'CRUSH CRUSH CRUSH'!"

"It's not like that, okay? And keep your voice down, you don't know who might hear." Philip quickly glances around, only to confirm they're still pretty alone. The closest students are unlikely to be within earshot, not unless they were charmed or one of them decided to shout more so than they already are.

"Okay, fine. But if you need a wingman, please let me help."

"_Enoch_."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco is in the middle of a Death Eater meeting when he reaches into his pocket, planning on grabbing his wand for comfort. Rather than grasping his wand, Draco instead finds his fingers brushing against a round, plastic-covered object that he knows is one of the lemon lollies Enoch has given him as well as something that also feels like plastic but he can't quite recognise. He decides it's safer not to check now, and makes a mental note to find out what it is after.

It's only once the meeting is over and he's tucked in bed, his bear lying on his chest, that he even remembers about the mysterious object in his pocket. Slightly unwilling but curiosity getting the better of him, the blond pulls himself from bed and goes to his robes, rummaging through the pockets until he finds it. In the dim light, he's barely disappointed to discover it was just a pen. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the reminder of Enoch and he puts it back in his pocket. Returning to bed, the fondness gains a hint of sadness as he's also reminded just how much he misses the younger boy. With the fear of being constantly watched, he's been avoiding thinking about the brunet, which has been a blessing in some respects. But it does make it hurt more now, in the quiet of the dormitory where no one can hear.

Pressing his bear against his nose, breathing in its scent, Draco makes a silent promise to it that he'll try and find a way to see Enoch properly soon. He has to.


	7. Chapter 6

Waiting in the Room of Requirement, Draco has managed to convince himself it was a terrible idea of tell Enoch to meet him there. It was always a terrible idea, full of risk, but now he's receiving the full force of anxiety. Different scenarios, all involving Enoch getting hurt or even worse, are running through his mind. By the time Enoch sneaks into the room, Draco is just about ready to run.

But instead he looks up to see the Hufflepuff and all of that goes away. _Well_, not really—it's still bubbling away beneath the surface—but it's overwhelmed by how glad he is to see him properly. He's so glad that Enoch wastes little time bounding over to him, pulling him into a hug. The hug lasts a few seconds, as Enoch wraps his arms around the older boy's waist and holds him tight. But even when he pulls away to look at the other boy properly, his arms remain wrapped around Draco's sides.

"That was from Gee." Draco doesn't know what to say in response to that, doesn't even know why Gee would want to give him a hug. He's never been anything but downright mean to her, she shouldn't have any reason to be nice back. But Draco doesn't even have a chance to recover from that confusion as Enoch presses a sudden kiss against his lips. A flood of warmth and the smell of roses rushes over him, the familiarity almost overwhelmingly nice, while butterflies wreck havoc on his stomach. Dragons would be a better description, really. Enoch is now smiling at him and the blond can feel the corner of his lips being shakily tugged upwards. "And that was from me. Obviously."

"I'd hope it wasn't from Jones." The brunet laughs, pressing his forehead against Draco's shoulder as he does so. The sparkle in his eye, as he looks back up at the older male, is infectious and Draco can't even keep the smile from his own lips anymore. "Why is she hugging me anyway?"

"Wants to make sure you're doing okay." Enoch pauses, fingers brushing against the edge of his collar. Each brush of contact brings a burst of warmth, fleeting despite its strength. Draco finds himself leaning into each touch unconsciously. "How are you feeling, by the way? You seem stressed but... is it worse than normal?"

"I think it's worse. The Dark Lord has infiltrated Hogwarts completely, not just some students that have been indoctrinated like I was, and I can never tell when I'm being watched. I'm certain I am, he's still not pleased with our family, but I think everyone is being watched... to a degree. To catch Potter, obviously." The brunet nods softly, concern painted across his face. "I'm sorry I've been distant. I didn't want to risk you being caught with me."

"I told you I don't mind. I know the risks, I'm willing to face them."

"I know but... it's different now. They could hurt you—make me hurt you—even kill you. I thought it was safer, it probably is safer still." Worry flashes in Enoch's eyes. Draco doesn't have to be an empath to sense those emotions, the concern and fear that Draco might push him away. He doesn't really like pushing him away, either. His one oasis in a living hell.

"Please... Don't shut me out again."

"If it's a choice between keeping you out of all this, it'd be better for both of us. I-I don't know what I'd do if someone hurt you or tried to use you against me." Just the thought lodges a nervous lump in Draco's throat and all the emotions he's been suppressing for the sake of hiding weakness start to break through the dam. Enoch's fingers flutter against his skin and he feels his emotions pull away from him. He takes Enoch's wrist, careful to only grab what his robes cover, and lifts his hand away, taking the unnatural calmness with it. Enoch doesn't need to feel the full force of that. "Right now, all they want is control and terror. They'll get both from me if they go through you. I won't put you in danger f-for the sake of–"

"This isn't your decision to make, _mon loup_." Enoch says gently, but internally Draco flinches. Not because he's find it's physically threatening or anything of the sort, but the threat that Enoch is going to ignore him is still worrying enough. He's not getting through to him—curse his stubbornness. And still, one small part of him is relieved. He isn't really ready to part just yet. "It's dangerous for everyone here, and my family has made their position clear. Even you knew, before you knew me properly, where my family stood."

"It'll get worse if people think we're close. They'll target you more." _Please, Enoch, just listen to reason_.

"We were partners last year, Philip managed to figure out we were friends, I think it's a bit past that point." The blond just shakes his head quickly, unable to find the words to say. He can't just give in, but all his arguments are being refuted with barely any hesitation. And his arguments are starting to run thin.

"It'll be safer..."

"Draco, it's my life. I get to decide if I put it on the line or not." A smile curls across Enoch's lips and Draco doesn't trust it. "You're beginning to sound like a Gryffindor, so ready to sacrifice yourself to protect me."

_Of course_.

In a burst of disgust, partially genuine and partially light-hearted even though he can't believe Enoch would suggest anything like that, the blond pulls away from Enoch and stomps over to one of the couches. With a loud huff, he flops down onto the couch and glares at the fireplace.

It's just not fair. He can't get Enoch to listen to reason, can't protect one of the few things that matters to him in here, and now he's being compared to _Gryffindors_. As if _Potter_, practically Gryffindor incarnate, isn't off gallivanting Merlin knows where with his closest friends in tow, endangering everyone that matters to him. If any one of them got caught... Draco can't have that happen to Enoch.

"If anyone is the Gryffindor, it's you." Draco mutters as Enoch fills the emptiness beside him, cuddling up to the blond with his head resting on the older boy's shoulder. In the corner of his eye, Draco can see that Enoch is still smiling, clearly unconvinced. "Such a little lion, heeding no warnings, running straight into danger because no one can tell you what to do."

"We can be Gryffindors together."

"Don't make me sick." The blond shuffles just enough so he can look down at Enoch if he strains his head. Even then, it's only in his peripheral and really all it achieves is pushing him closer to the younger, but it's enough. "You should grow some scales and run while you still can."

"Not going to happen, _mon loup_."

"It'd be better if you did." Draco pauses, before he sighs softly. "If you won't listen to me about this, at least let me set some rules."

"Let me hear them first."

"We can only meet in secret, we can't be seen together outside of unavoidable interactions." Enoch hums softly in response. "Some of our meetings, you have to try and learn some Occlumency. I'll do my best to teach you, but we have to close your mind as much as possible." Another hum, the shifting of his head in a nod. "If it's a choice between protecting yourself and me, protect yourself."

"I can't promise I'll follow that last one. Just as, I suspect, you wouldn't either."

"_Please_. Just tell me you'll try."

"Fine. I'll try." Enoch says, but Draco doesn't believe him. Still, it's probably the best he's going to get. They lapse into silence, important points reached. Enoch can't seem to get acceptably squished up against the blond, still shuffling so he can be closer. His legs are now draped over Draco's, arm wrapped around him, head still resting against him. Draco can't see how it's particularly comfortable for either of them, but he doesn't hate the contact and so lets Enoch continue to curl up against him. The warmth flows gently between them and, for a moment, he's able to forget that there's even a world outside that he should be concerned about.

But then, somehow, Enoch falls asleep. In his slumber, the warmth lessens to just the body heat and Draco's own emotions are able to overpower his. He sits there, staring at the fire, unable to stop his thoughts from wandering to all the worst possible scenarios. Enoch could be chosen like those stupid, rebellious Gryffindors for classroom demonstrations, tortured by the sadistic Death Eaters--or worse, by Draco's own hand if he was forced into doing it, or even killed. Draco has seen all of those happen to others, it takes barely anything for his imagination to fill those spots with Enoch.

Draco feels his bottom lip quiver. The small action is a sign of more cracks in the dam. He takes a deep breath in. _Don't feel, don't feel, don't feel_. A slow exhale. He pushes all those thoughts, all those weaknesses, deep into the dark recesses of his mind where only he can find them. They're safer there.

By the time Enoch is woken from his nap, Draco has managed to suppress all those emotions. The brunet seems none the wiser, giving Draco a sleepy smile as he finally detangles himself. Draco returns the smile with a small curl of his lip and pats his knee.

"Theo will have covered for me but I think we should go now, before anyone grows too suspicious." Thankfully, Enoch nods his head and doesn't seem like he's about to argue. Draco has suffered enough failures for one day. "You can leave first. I'll leave after, so no one sees us together."

"Okay. I'll see you around then, stranger." Draco watches as Enoch slips from the room, before he settles back into the couch. Just when he thought he was free from all the plotting and planning, a new task may have presented itself to him: _make sure Enoch survives_.

He sighs. Why couldn't Enoch have been more of a Slytherin?


	8. Chapter 7

Philip's list of things he hates is rather short. He's found it's better to keep that list short, or you start to just hate everything and end up perpetually unhappy. And if there's one thing Philip hates, it's unhappiness. However, in order to keep his hate list short, his dislike list is allowed to grow and fester. He dislikes mashed potato, that pumpkin soup that always gets served at the start of winter, not knowing something he knows he should know, Professor Snape, sometimes even his own shadow. Oh, and homework.

Homework has to be one of the greatest injustices known to students. Detention is definitely up there on the list but, as he stares blankly at his empty scroll, Philip's dislike for homework is going pretty strong. He's been staring at this page for an hour—though it feels like an eternity—wasting away his weekend trying to figure out how he's even supposed to start an essay. Normally he has Gee sitting beside him, Elijah on the other side, and one of them will say something smart that sparks a sentence that leads to a paragraph and eventually he has something written. But neither of them are here right now; one's probably at home writing essays, while the other tries to ignore the fact that her holiday is a front for being on the run. And so, his essay's fate rests in his hands. If he doesn't get it done, he'll probably get a detention, and then he'll be sitting somewhere else thinking about how detention is one of the greatest injustices known to students.

Philip lets his quill drop, the first smudge of ink hitting the paper, as he gives up. Holding the quill, poised as if some words are about to spill from them, has only resulted in giving him a cramped hand. Not even from writing, making him feel like he's earned that cramping—just holding a quill a bit too tight. It's not fair.

A distraction comes in the form of his curly haired Hufflepuff friend, who plonks himself down in the seat beside the older boy. He looks the least exhausted he has all week, something that makes Philip feel some gratitude. He's had to bring homework to Enoch in the Hospital Wing one too many times this past week, had to watch his friend move around like a husk, mope about like everything's unfair. Not that it isn't. Philip would be inclined to agree, if the cause of that moping wasn't Draco Malfoy. Blond git doesn't even know what he's doing to Enoch—and if he does, Philip wants to punch him in the face.

"Where were you?" Philip asks, and is quite pleased to see the younger scoot a little closer, almost conspiratorially. Even if he doesn't have secrets to tell, Philip appreciates the closeness and the contact as their shoulders brush each other.

"I was meeting with _Furet_. Finding out what's happening." Philip wants to be supportive, he really does, but it's so difficult when it's about Draco. He's spent years watching Draco grow from a whiny brat into an equally whiny, slightly bit more dangerous teen—a bully that's too scared to face any real consequences, following larger bullies.

If you decided to ask Philip what he hated, after rambling on about his philosophy on hatred, he would answer, without any hesitation, _Death Eaters_. And then, with some fearful hesitation, he'd add _their leader. _Not only do Death Eaters have disgusting views and atrocious behaviour, most of the major woes in Philip's life seem to be caused by them. A fail and week long detention because of a botched potion—Death Eater. A World Cup ruined and very nearly ruining Quidditch in its entirety for Philip—Death Eater. The return of a vile monster of a wizard and the death of a schoolmate and distant friend—Death Eater. The death of his headmaster—Death Eater. One best friend doing her best to enjoy her life on the run fronting as a vacation while another is stressed out and depressed—Death Eater. The list seems endless.

So, he doesn't really love Enoch's choice of boyfriend. He doesn't love that they met up. He doesn't love the possibility that they made up.

"What is happening?" He asks all the same because, even if he dislikes him, it's better to know what Draco is up to.

"He's being watched but, if we're careful, we can keep meeting." _Why?_ Philip wishes they'd never been Alchemy partners. He's happy for Enoch, really, but not happy for Draco. He's not happy about Draco. "He was, like, super paranoid. And was acting like I'm completely incompetent."

"I mean, you are pretty incompetent sometimes." Philip jokes, hoping to ease his own tension, suddenly aware that Enoch might be feeling all that he's feeling. Maybe he's hurt Enoch's own feelings by feeling so annoyed. What does annoyance even feel like? He could be making Enoch physically uncomfortable too.

"Hey!" Enoch shoves him and there's some warmth in the contact. "I beat him in a fight, anyway. Surely I'm more competent than him."

"In some areas, for sure. But being an evil prick? He wins there."

"He's not evil. Sometimes mean, sure—that feeling seems to be mutual anyway—but not evil. I don't get that from him, or any of the students here." Enoch leans a little closer, arm pressed right up against Philip's. "Those new teachers, they're evil. You're lucky you can't taste it. But only them, they're the evil ones."

"Enoch, I trust you, I really do. But I don't trust Draco and he hasn't won me over yet." Honesty is the best policy, Philip figures, especially when Enoch can sense things. "I'm happy for you, I'm glad things have worked out there, but I'm gonna keep my eye on him, alright? I'll protect you—and him when it protects you—but only because it's _you_."

"I love you. You're stupid, but I love you." Enoch pulls Philip into a tight hug filled with warmth. The brunet worries maybe Enoch missed the point, but the hug is so warm all those concerns slip from him. He melts like a marshmallow in hot chocolate. "I appreciate the concern, though, even if I think it's misplaced."

"You be careful, I'll be careful, and we'll all be happy."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"It's hard without Harry." Neville confesses to his fellow Gryffindors, sitting on the edge of his bed. None of them can sleep right now, not with one of them missing after a particularly brutal DADA class. Philip is lying back in his own bed, sitting up against the headrest. He's tired and his body wants to sleep, but his mind won't let him. "Even Hermione and Ron. They all made it look so easy."

"We can't keep going like this. It isn't sustainable." One of the other Gryffindors comments, speaking everyone's thoughts. There are a few nods from the other boys. "We can keep standing up, fighting like we are, but each time we do we just get hurt. We get knocked down for a couple of days, sometimes don't even get the chance to recover. We might even..." The boy hesitates, fear taking him. "We might even die if we're not careful."

"That's why we be careful." Philip pipes up, but he knows what his housemates are like. They might be nodding in agreement but Gryffindors have a funny definition of 'careful'.

"I don't know what else we _can_ do. Normally Harry would be creating the plan. But he's not here..."

The talk doesn't make anyone feel better. There's no reassurance, no speech that fills them all with hope. That's Harry's job. Maybe Hermione or Ron, too. They're just the followers. But the company on the almost sleepless nights is better than none, the knowledge that they're not all alone in this hopelessness. That, in itself, brings the tiniest shred of hope that none of them can really bring themselves to acknowledge in this moment.   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  


"A _boy_—a seventeen year old _boy_," The Dark Lord's venomous rage spills from his lips in a potentially deadly fury, "has managed to escape _all_ of your grasp. Not one of you has been able to capture him. Not one of you is competent enough to find a _child_."

The Dark Lord doesn't yell, but that doesn't mean his words are any less threatening, any less cold, any less dangerous. In fact, Draco thinks he might be more scared of him in this state than when he's in a true fit of pure rage. With the wand within his grasp, Voldemort feels like an angry snake—ready to strike at any moment, should you make the wrong move.

"Tell me, how does Harry Potter hide from all of you so successfully? Do I have to go out and find him myself?" No one responds, no one reacts. Everyone is too terrified that they might give him the wrong answer. Everyone is aware today could be their last day if they're not careful. "I ask you all of one thing, while I work on the Ministry and grow our power—one simple job. And not one of you has succeeded in it."

"He's not at Hogwarts, My Lord, and he hasn't contacted anyone within it." Alecto Carrow is the first to speak up, the only one brave—or stupid—enough to. "We keep a tight watch on the grounds and we'd know."

"Then perhaps you should be using that to your advantage." Voldemort hisses, before Alecto drops to her knees. In that same moment, the Dark Lord's wand is directed towards her, the likely source of the sudden agony the Carrow sibling is in. She gasps, now writhing on the floor, body stiff and contorted. Released from the curse, she barely relaxes. Draco finds himself tensing as the Dark Lord turns to him, magically pulls him forward. The blond all but stumbles towards the serpentine man in front of him. "Tell me, Draco, have _you_ heard anything?"

"N-No, My Lord." Draco responds quickly. Perhaps too quickly, as his leader doesn't seem to believe him. A cold hand grasps his chin, nails digging into either side of his face. And then something—_someone_, the Dark Lord—is digging into his head. As quick, as subtly, as he can, he pushes all the memories of Enoch behind the wall. Draco can feel him clawing his way into his memories, pulling at them, all but ripping them to shreds. But the wall remains intact. As the pain worsens, Draco can barely hold back the cries from his lip. He wants to, wants to protect his pride and perhaps himself from worse pain but fighting back, but he can't stop them. Tears even spring in the corner of his eyes. Something warm is dribbling down his lips. Merlin, is his nose running? _Pathetic_.

When his memories are satisfactorily clawed through and no mention of Potter is found, Voldemort releases Draco. The blond drops to the ground, unable to keep himself upright without the hand gripping him. He runs his hand under his nose and it comes back red. Drops now fall onto the ground—clearly they'd already been falling, as there already seems to be a collection on the floor. The floor seems so close, yet so far away right now.

_Ah_, and it's getting closer. That's worrying.

As Draco hits the floor, he hopes he doesn't get blood on his clothes. These are brand new.

But it's black, and he's lost to the land of unconsciousness, before he can expend too much thought on this. 


	9. Chapter 8

The first chance he gets, perhaps against his better judgement, Draco organises a meeting with Enoch. After finding the brunet in the library, he leaves a charmed, paper bird for him. Watching the bird and Enoch as subtly as he can, the blond continues to examine books he has no interest in, not even aware of what exactly he's looking at. He's more interested in the way Enoch notices the bird, surprise taking his entire face. _Merlin_, he really is horrible at hiding his emotions. In this moment, a brief moment of relative calm, Draco finds it endearing more than anything else. However, he's good at hiding his emotions, so it just looks like he's mildly invested in reading spines.

Enoch reads the letter written inside the bird and a smile replaces his surprise. He looks like an idiot. With the letter read, and promptly destroyed as per its instructions, Enoch glances around. After a short search, they make eye contact through the bookshelf. The smile is now directed to Draco, smaller but still noticeable. Draco offers a small nod in return, not willing to risk much more acknowledgement.

Ten minutes later, both of them have met in their hideaway in the Room of Requirement. Stretched out on the couch, Draco is wrapped inside Enoch's arms, melting in the warmth. The brunet is running his fingers through Draco's hair slowly. He feels safe.

"How are you?" Enoch asks after a significant amount of silence has passed comfortably between them.

"Better now. The weekend was horrible, though." Draco admits. He can still feel the ghost of the migraine that knocked him out for the entire weekend, the feeling of the Dark Lord clawing through his memories. The blond tells Enoch of this and feels a little better when the hug grows tighter. Enoch presses his lips on the top of Draco's head in a soft kiss and Draco is reminded of something. He reluctantly pushes himself up, out of Enoch's arms, so he can look at the younger boy properly. "We've almost been dating for three months." Enoch nods. "Are you still happy dating me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I could give a list of reasons but you've already refuted all of them. All I meant was—I know you're not a Pureblood, but you're from a Pureblood family. Do you know how courtship usually works amongst Pureblood families?" Draco feels the nerves rise within him, far out of his comfort zone. He'd been taught about courtship, how to approach it, but it had always been in the abstract form with the assumption that they'd go into greater depth when the situation arose. That isn't exactly possible right now, but Draco doesn't feel comfortable ignoring the expectations. Not these ones, at least.

"Yeah, it's what old people did, isn't it?" Enoch's tone is far too casual, too dismissive, and Draco curses his upbringing once more.

"It's traditional, yes, but not limited to old people. If we– If situations were different, I would be expected to go through all of it with you. We would be getting close to when the longer version would be expected to start."

"And it's important to you?" Draco nods his head, looking down at his hands. It feels so trivial, and yet so important. He'd like one bit of normality in amongst all of this. "What happens in it? All I know is there's a lot of rules."

"There are, but we wouldn't be following a lot of them. We can't, in our current situation. For example, you should have been presented to my family months ago, and then our families would have gathered, all before anything got official. But, obviously, that won't be happening." Draco pauses, not even entirely sure what they can and can't follow. He doesn't even remember everything. "I'll have to find a book, or talk to Theo and see if he knows anything. But I know there are important gifts, ones that represent our families and all that. We'd still have to be subtle but we can do that, if you want."

"I'd like to. Especially if it's important to you."

"It is. I also think, if things change and I'm able to introduce you to my family _properly_, it might be better—might help our case—if we've done our best to stick to the expectations."  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


After a horribly long day in class, Draco had hoped he could just go rest without any hassle. But, of course, he should have know better than to hope that. When is he ever left hassle-free?

The common room is almost empty when he enters, something he first considered a good sign. But the only sign of life is a few studious students and, more importantly, a crying first year. She's trying to be quiet, trying to smother it, but the quiet hiccups practically echo through the otherwise silent room. And Draco notices. He also notices that it seems like no one is going to help her, and that she's one of the new students from an important Ministry family which makes her just as important. And so, he approaches her.

"Are you okay?" He asks as he crouches down beside the couch next to her. The girl flinches, which makes Draco worry. He had thought he'd been careful and yet he still managed to scare her. The full moon might be approaching, but he hadn't thought it was that bad. Could it be his reputation, which has only worsened since last year? But it couldn't be—she hasn't even looked at him yet. Wiping her eyes, she shakes her head and finally glances up at him. There's no new fear now that she's seen his face, so it mustn't be that.

"I'm fine." She responds quietly, but there's an obvious tremble in her voice and body.

"It's okay, if you aren't. It's not uncommon for first years to get homesick or miss their parents early in the year. We won't bully you, not any of the good students anyway." The girl shakes her head again. She can't hold back the small, choked sob that escapes her lips, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Even I got homesick. Hogwarts is nice, but it's abysmal compared to home." Draco is lying now, because home has never felt safe enough a refuge for him to miss. But he's hoping it might open the girl up more.

"I'm not homesick." She answers, almost sounding offended at the implication. "I mean, I am but I'm not crying over it."

"Then why are you crying? You can tell me."

"In Defence Against the Dark Arts..." The girl lets out a small whimper, before she exhales slowly and tries to keep talking. "I couldn't cast the spell—I _tried_, but it wasn't working. A-A-And the professor, h-h-h-he hurt– He said he had to punish me, so I learnt." The girl starts crying again. "I wish I could have gone to Beauxbatons."

"Carrow hurt you because you tried and couldn't perform a spell?" The girl nods. Draco feels anger bubbling up inside of him. "You didn't fight or argue with him, didn't do anything that might be seen as rebellion?"

"Why would I? I don't _want_ to be punished."

"You're right, only a Gryffindor would do that. And no one helped you, not even a Gryffindor?"

"No one helped me."

"I am so sorry this happened." Draco pulls a hanky from his pocket, passing it to the girl. "It's clean—charmed. You stay there, I'll be right back."

The girl does as she's told, using the hanky while she waits. Draco disappears to his room, collecting a few things, before he returns to the girl. He sits down beside her and holds his hand out, a lemon candy resting in his palm.

"Eat this. It might make you feel better." The girl does, and her expression immediately contorts into that worn by people eating things far too sour. Draco can't help but chuckle a little, feeling only slightly bad that he didn't warn her. She seems amused by it too, at least, smiling in between the pain. "It's sour."

"I'm aware." The younger responds dryly, rolling her eyes. She sniffs as she rolls the candy inside her mouth from one cheek to another. "I suppose it's a good thing I like sour lollies."

"It would be worse, if you didn't. I can't stand sour things." Draco pauses before adding, "Except those."

"Thank you." Draco offers the girl a small smile, and another candy, but he's still furious internally. Feeling very unlike himself, he feels as if he needs to do something about it. Writing a letter to the girl's father, perhaps insisting the Carrows pay for harming a Slytherin, but none of these feel quite fitting for the emotions he's feeling.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco feels absolutely irate as he paces back and forth in front of the couch, the anger washing over Enoch in uncomfortable waves that leave him squirming and doing his best to stay in control. Within a few days, the blond had already started ignoring his own rules and organised meetings with a far higher frequency than either expected. Enoch has already seen him two days in a row, being dragged out in the evening when he'd been planning to try and finish an essay.

"It's despicable! Attacking a Slytherin like that—a _first year_, no less. If that girl's father hears about this... Those teachers will regret harming a hair on her head. It's horrible. It's not even like she was being rebellious or warranting the punishment. She's a _first year_, she didn't know the spell. Not like those Gryffindors, constantly bringing it on themselves. Maybe if he was a better teacher, he wouldn't have students struggling in his class."

As Draco rants, his pacing doesn't cease. If anything, it seems to increase, to the point where Enoch struggles to watch him without growing a little dizzy. Back and forth, back and forth. No pause in between, one circular motion. Back and forth, around and around.

"And those Gryffindors—what are they even doing? I thought they were supposed to be the brave fighters leading the rebellion. What kind of rebellion is it when even a Slytherin is getting harmed?" Draco throws his arms up wildly. Enoch can't deny, it's probably some of the most emotion he's ever seen the blond show. "I don't want to compliment Potter but I'm starting to think he and his friends were the only ones bringing even the smallest amount of brain and organisation to this. Without them, they're a mess of mangy cats, all roar and no bite. Merlin, it pains me to say this but he might really be a decent leader. Or a decent leader of Gryffindors, which wouldn't be that hard, _really_. But clearly they lack one when he's not around. I wouldn't have thought it would be that hard."

The blond suddenly pauses, head snapping up as if a realisation has hit him. For once, his attention turns to Enoch, a strange bit of excitement in his eyes. A very unnerving excitement. Yet, while Enoch doesn't understand the cause, he's grateful for the change of emotions.

"Enoch, that's it! Without Potter, they've got no bite—more importantly, they've got no one directing their bite. Potter, as thick as he is, was the mastermind. To achieve anything, they need their dear, perfect Potter guiding them."

"But... he's not here, isn't he?" Enoch is sure they just established that this was a part of the problem. Draco doesn't seem perturbed by Enoch's confusion. He sits down beside the brunet, arm resting against the brunet's shoulder as he turns to him.

"He's not. But they don't need him, not really." Enoch's frown only grows as he struggles to follow this train of thought. He begins to wonders if, perhaps, Draco might be suffering from some kind of stress or sleep deprivation. "They just need the _idea_ of him. Anyone could be Potter. _We_ could be Potter. Enoch, I know it's disgusting to think about but we're going to have to become Potter if we want to get anything done."

Sleep deprivation or stress is definitely starting to seem more likely.

"How do you become Potter?"

"It's easy. All you need is some coins and a shred of intelligence. And we have, or will have, both." Draco looks so pleased with himself, Enoch feels horrible for not understanding. He tries to somehow figure out what he's missing, but he just comes up blank. Eventually, he places a soft hand on the blond's cheek.

"_Mon Loup_, I think there's some piece of information you think I know but I don't, or I'm missing something. How does that make you Potter?"

"Oh, of course, I forgot you weren't there." Enoch's touch drops from Draco's cheek to one of his hands, in the hopes that maybe that might stop them from moving about so much. "In fifth year, we had an awful teacher—Umbridge, she was from the Ministry. Because the Ministry is full of paranoid old fools, she had a whole collection of rules that made it impossible to learn. So, Potter being Potter took it upon himself to break all of those rules and create a small group that taught themselves Defence Against the Dark Arts. Called themselves Dumbledore's Army and, at the end of the year, went and took the fight to the Ministry." The blond sits up a little straighter, a proud expression taking his face. "_I _was a part of the group who took them down. Which means I know how they worked, like how they all have coins they used to summon one another. I'm willing to bet they still have those."

"But how is that going to help us?"

"If we can just get our hands on one of those coins, we can summon them, remind them of the Army, maybe give them an actual plan. Those Gryffindors will do the rest."

"I thought we weren't supposed to get involved."

"They won't know we're involved. It'll be completely secret, just get the whole thing rolling. We can..." Draco clicks his fingers, another thought coming to him. "Densmore—Philip was in the Army. If he swears to secrecy, he can help us. Reassure them if they seem uncertain, ensure this all works according to plan."

"But what is our plan?" Enoch asks, still feeling slightly out of the loop. "Exactly, like what are we doing?"

"I haven't figured that much out yet. But it's progress, more progress than the Gryffindors have."


	10. Chapter 9

"Do you swear to total secrecy, to keep anything said here between only those present now?" Philip is frowning at Draco, the person who has dragged him into the Room of Requirement only to then make him start swearing to things with absolutely no explanation. Enoch is with him, the only reason Philip has gone along with this, but this doesn't make it any better. Nonetheless, after a quick glance at Enoch, the Gryffindor nods his head. This seems to throw Draco as he hesitates, glancing from Enoch to Philip uncertainly. "You have to verbally say it."

"_I swear_." Philip responds, unnecessarily dragging out each syllable. "What am I swearing to keep secret anyway?"

"A plan." Draco responds.

At the same time, a bit more enthusiastically, Enoch says, "We're becoming Harry Potter."

"I'd been planning on explaining it a bit better than that..."

"It was enough for me, apparently." Draco rolls his eyes, but there's an unnerving fondness in the gesture. Philip doesn't like it. He's not used to seeing anything but grimaces, cold smirks and scowls on his face.

"What Enoch means is that I've noticed Gryffindor's attempts at rebellion have gotten rather pitiful since Potter left." Draco continues as he takes a seat on one of the couches. Enoch is quick to join him, sitting right down beside him. Philip should have expected that one day he'd have to see them together, as a couple, but he's struggling to adjust to the sight. The blond really does feel like another person already—if only slightly—holding hands with the brunet as he criticises Gryffindor.

"There's not that many of us. We're doing what we can, but all it does it get us hurt." Philip tries to defend his housemates but the defence falls on empty ears.

"Exactly my point. There's no planning, no unity. You're rushing in, as expected of Gryffindors, with no real plan. At least Potter seemed to have some method to his madness." Philip takes a seat on one of the other chairs facing the other couch. "You need a leader—you need a Potter, someone who symbolises everything you're stupidly putting your life on the line for and directs that stupidity. And I can't see anyone stepping up to the plate at the moment. So, as Enoch said, we will become your Potter."

"Why? What do you get out of it?"

"Personally, I get the relief of no longer having to watch the complete train wreck that is whatever you're currently attempting. I also don't like some of the current teaching staff and their methods, but can't afford to risk being caught associating with or helping the wrong side." He really is a completely different person. Well, not totally—there's still a scowl as he talks about the staff, a general indifference in his tone as if he really couldn't care less. But, underneath all his insults, he is offering help. More notably, help that doesn't seem to directly benefit him more than those he's helping. "Anyway, we're telling you this because we can't do this alone... Well, we _could_, it will just be easier if you help."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Do you still have one of those coins the Army has?" Philip nods his head. "I need you to give me that, if you can without drawing suspicion. We also need someone on the inside, to tell us what is happening and ensure they're following the plan."

"And what _is_ the plan? You're still being very vague and I don't see why I should be helping _you_, Malfoy." Philip glances at Enoch, who has been quiet throughout all of this. He seems to be listening and doesn't seem to have taken offence at Philip's suspicions.

"The plan is simple: the coin gets activated, Dumbledore's Army is gathered under the belief that Harry Potter is somehow communicating from wherever he is, then we work on what they should be doing from there. What they can do will be greatly affected by how many choose to join."

"I'm still missing the how." Draco pauses to look to Enoch.

"We're still working on that bit. Draco said the coins will get them in one room, but we're not sure if everyone would believe that Harry is the one communicating them without a _sign_."

"If there's no sign or message, they might think it's a trap. Dumbledore's Army isn't exactly a secret anymore." Philip comments, earning a nod from either boy. This alone is enough encouragement to keep him brainstorming. He may dislike Draco still, but he likes the concept of their plan. Even the Gryffindors have noticed the absence of their typical leader. "Harry would probably do something. He's not showy, but he'd make some gesture. Something that was undeniably _him_, either heroic or just rebellious."

"We can't do anything that exposes us, or that would require Potter to be present. If we just send a message, something that feels like it was from him, something loud that says 'your hero has returned', do you think that would be enough?" Philip nods. "You'll be with the Army, I imagine. If we need, you can nudge them down that train of thought."

"You still need something that we can do without being right in the centre."

There's a moment of silence, as the trio ponders this dilemma. Then Draco shuffles, crossing one leg over the other, as he says, "Changing topic ever so slightly, if you're willing, your role here wouldn't end at this meeting. Obviously, I can't be seen to be opposing the Dark Lord—which I'm _not_—or his followers, no matter how incompetent they might be."

"And if I'm helping Draco, it's safer for me to remain neutral." Enoch adds quickly.

"Yes, Enoch is still a fairly neutral party. But you're already on the inside. After the Army has gathered, it would be beneficial to maintain the contact so if there is information or a task we need them to do, you can pass on or ensure they follow it."

"Won't it be suspicious if I'm always bringing information to them?"

"Only as suspicious as it always is. Sometimes you know far too much, Densmore, and this would be no exception." Philip nods slowly, doing his best to hide his pride. His reputation for information-collecting has never been something he's been overly concerned with, a product of his desire for the information rather than something he's actively tried to maintain. But, coming from Draco, he is pleased at the thought that maybe his skills might be a pest or noteworthy ability to the Slytherin.

"I have an idea! I think I know how we can make a bang without getting caught." Enoch sits up suddenly, excitement written all over his body. He looks between the other two, eyes wide, gaining full attention from them both immediately. "Have either of you seen Funniest Home Videos?"  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


"I wrote the letter, but I don't know what your owl looks like." Enoch confesses, having managed to get Draco through Pansy. The pair have met in a secluded corridor, hoping the meeting might be brief enough. It's late into the evening, with most students either in their dorms, studying, or detention. Soon they'll all be expected to be in bed or face those consequences, but there's time still.

"If we're quick, we might be able to get there unnoticed." Draco responds after a moment of deliberation. He beckons for Enoch to follow before he starts moving down the corridor. With the brunet following close behind, they stick mostly to the shadowed, empty corridors, with their muffled footsteps still feeling all too loud. Before each corner, Draco pauses and glances around, ensuring they aren't about to walk straight into someone. The walk to the Owlery is far longer than it would normally be, but they manage to avoid bumping into anyone along the way. The Owlery is also, fortunately, empty when they arrive and Draco immediately approaches one of the largest birds resting in the room. The owl, upon noticing the blond, hoots softly. "Enoch, meet... Owlexander."

"Alexander?"

"_Owl_exander. I wouldn't name my bird something as simple as _Alexander_." Draco responds, patting the bird softly. The large bird, which Enoch recognises now as the one that had visited him last Christmas, regards the brunet with that same haughty expression. "Owlexander, this is Enoch. You can be nice to him."

"Will he bite?" Enoch asks softly, watching that sharp beak nervously. Draco shakes his head, still stroking the bird's front.

"Not unless I tell him to, or you upset him. But you'll be fine." With a small nod, and a pause to gather his confidence, Enoch approaches the bird. Owlexander watches Enoch with his wide eyes, shuffles slightly as he grows closer, but otherwise lets him put the letter in the small tube on his leg. Once that is done, the owl nibbles fondly on Draco's finger, perhaps by way of farewell, before he hops off his perch and flies off into the night. The pair watch him go, before the silence of the room starts to feel heavy. Draco speaks first, his voice a whisper, "We should part ways."

Enoch nods reluctantly. "Do you think it'll work out?"

"For what I'm paying them, it had better. It's likely more money than they've ever seen in their life." Draco comments with a dry, disparaging tone, small scowl resting on his face.

"That's not nice." The scowl drops.

"It's not inaccurate, though." Enoch shoots a disapproving look towards the blond, but Draco seems unfazed. "Come on, you don't want to get caught out too late. I think the Carrows are in a bad mood these days, you don't want to tempt them."

In the dark owlery, Enoch risks touching Draco's hand just once. In that one touch, he pushes as much affection through the contact and is pleased to smell the sudden bloom of roses. Draco gives him a small smile, but the moment doesn't last long.

But as Enoch hurries back to the Hufflepuff dormitory, he can't help but feel that excitement bubbling inside of him. It feels good to be doing something proactive, to be doing something good. He doesn't feel quite so helpless anymore.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"I don't think we can trust that transfer... What's his name? The one that came last year?" Philip perks up at the worryingly familiar description. Lying in his bed, reading his Quidditch book but otherwise detached from the conversation, he continues to listen with dread filling his insides. He doesn't supply a name, not wanting anything to be confirmed.

But one of the other boys does it for him, "Desrosiers? The homeschooled one?"

"Yeah, him. I saw him and Malfoy sneaking about this evening. I'm not sure what they were doing, but they looked suspicious." The first boy continues, confirming the worst. _Merlin_, Philip could just about kill Malfoy right now.

"Philip, you're friends with Desrosiers, aren't you?" Neville's voice breaks through Philip's internal anger and he hesitates, all attention now on him.

"I am, best friends. I'd trust him with my life." Philip assures them. Neville seems to listen to him, seems to actually consider what he's saying. But the other boys remain unconvinced, with the boy who brought this up actually frowning.

"But he was with _Malfoy_, who's a _Death Eater_ that betrayed us all. I thought we'd all agreed that anyone associating with him is a danger."

"Enoch is only a danger to us if we upset him. I _know_ he's not on the Death Eaters side. Do you think I'd be friends with a Death Eater?"

"If he gave you the right information, maybe." Philip glowers at the other boy.

"I think we should wait and see." Neville speaks up, stopping the argument before it gets out of control. He looks from one boy to the other, before offering Philip a kind smile. "I don't think Enoch is bad, but if he's with Malfoy we still have to be careful. But for now, we treat him like we would anyone else. He's Philip's friend, and I trust Philip."

Philip could kill Draco, but he could also hug Neville. Right now, he's really not sure which would bring him more happiness. 


	11. Chapter 10

"I would like to remind you all that any sightings or knowledge regarding Harry Potter should be reported immediately. Failure to do so, and the discovery that you have withheld information, will result in punishment." Snape informs the students before dinner. The Death Eater teachers are all starting to look a little more exhausted than the others. Draco holds no sympathy for the Carrows—in fact, he's glad they're suffering. But he's also suffering. He was barely able to sleep last night because the Dark Lord had to express his displeasure once again. He had to... hurt someone again. Draco's stomach churns at the memories, combining with the building stress, and the food in front of him suddenly becomes incredibly unappetising. Beside him, Theo is filling his own plate as well as Draco's, ensuring he still eats.

Still not quite willing to do so, Draco's hand goes into his pocket and grasps the cold coin inside. After a week of waiting, running through the plan to ensure all three are on the same page, the night has finally come. Draco has spent far too much time with the Gryffindor, who has only got worse since their first meeting. There had been a brief moment, when the brainstorming really started, that Draco had thought they might have reached some degree of civility—not friendly, just enough to work together without it being painful. But the meeting after, Philip had somehow gotten colder than before. He'd communicate and discuss things, but it was clear he's only here for Enoch. Draco can't blame him, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

Somewhere, on the other side of the room, Philip is likely attempting to get into a position where he can discreetly work. Enoch would be doing the same on the Hufflepuff table. Surrounded by his closest friends, completely unaware, Draco fortunately has a small, unquestioning shield that will obscure most of his actions from view. They just have to get through dinner.

"Your food is going to go cold if you keep staring and not eating." Pansy warns him as she stares at his untouched plate. There's a glimmer of concern in her eyes but, as expected, she asks nothing. They know not to ask. To ask is to know, and to know can be potentially dangerous in the long run. It's easier to play dumb when you really are unaware. "It's a waste of good food."

Under his friend's watchful eyes, Draco forces himself to eat some of his food. He doesn't finish it, but the bit he does surprisingly makes him feel a little better. Not completely, and mouthfuls start to cause more nauseous, but it fills what hunger he might have still had. Pansy seems to approve of his effort, nodding softly to herself.

Dinner soon turns to dessert and the time dawns upon the trio. The suspense suddenly settles on Draco, unbearably heavy. Enoch has to make the first move. Once Enoch has moved, then the rest will follow. The blond is just sitting, waiting, staring in the direction of the Hufflepuff table. The oblivious chatter feels all too loud, buzzing in Draco's head. This was a horrible idea. So many things could go wrong. They'd gone through it to the finite detail at Draco's insistence but that doesn't mean anything. They could easily get caught. What if Enoch has already been caught? Draco can't see him; he might not even be there.

But then there's a sizzling sound cutting through the chatter as a fizzing trail of light bursts up to the ceiling. The firework swirls around the ceiling, only noticed by a few. But more follow, filling the air until they're unable to be ignored. Especially not when one shoots to the top from the other side of the hall, loud and angry, before exploding in one large crackle. As this one explodes, others start to do the same and the hall is full of noise. Some students are screaming, others laughing; the teachers are surprised or outraged. _Some_ teachers—the Carrows—are particularly upset when a few fireworks suddenly explode underneath their chairs, while others start targeting them, chasing them when they try to escape.

"Who did this?" Alecto shrieks, attempting to spell the fireworks away. It doesn't work.

With shaking hands, Draco pulls a few fireworks from his pocket and, in one quick gesture, drops them to the ground and charms the fuses. The loudest of the fireworks shoot to the bright sky, filling the ceiling with bright green. The edges of the green turn red, blue and yellow, while the green itself starts to thin. In neat, curling letters, the fireworks start to spell: 'DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY HAS RETURNED'. Above the green, the red explodes once more, now resembling lightning. The lightning flashes, bathing the hall in a deep red glow.

Draco still doesn't like or respect the Weasleys. But, he can't deny, the twins do have an eye for theatrics. The act is very reminiscent of their own show a few years ago, but in a way that feels familiar and, hopefully, makes it easier to believe it came from Potter and his friends. Enoch's initial idea had just been to target the Carrows, hide fireworks under their chair like he'd seen in some Muggle show. But, at the mention of the Weasley's store, the idea immediately grew larger. And the Weasley twins seemed all too happy to help, sending them more than what Enoch had asked for in his letter as well as a response asking that he keeps them informed on how it goes and that, in the future, he doesn't need to pay so much as they'll give him a special discount. They never would have got any of that had it been Draco's letter.

While everyone is distracted by the fireworks, Draco changes the date and time on the fake Galleon to reflect tomorrow's date, few hours after dinner. He prays Philip is right and that the majority of members have held onto their coins. Regardless, word of mouth will cover the rest. Once that's done, he casts a non-incriminating spell down at his feet.

The few fireworks left, reaching the end of their life, start to converge and combine. In one final explosion, one that shakes some of the cutlery and rings in Draco's ears, they burst into the bright image of a lion—not Draco's choice of imagery. Roaring, it runs through the room, chasing the Carrows once more, before vanishing. The room is left in near silence, if not for the excitement buzzing throughout the students. Someone, somewhere, cheers. More voices join the mix, all celebrating the message as the teachers watch on furiously. Well, the Carrows are furious. Some of the older teachers seem to be smothering smiles.

"Whoever did this," Alecto all but roars at the students once they've quietened, glaring at all of them, "will regret it."

The mood seems to sober as Snape gets to his feet, as cold and emotionless as ever. He stares at the students and, for a moment, Draco feels as if the professor looks directly at him. He feels caught again, the reality settling in on him.

"I hope you are pleased with yourselves." Snape's voice is still monotone, still unimpressed. But there's a threat resting underneath it. There has to be. There's no way anyone would get away with something like this if caught. "Anyone found to be involved in this will be punished. Do not think you will get away with this. However, anyone who confesses to the act, or provides information, will not suffer as much as those that have to be dragged out. Might I also remind you all that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes are banned, and we will be getting in contact with them for information on recent purchases."

"You can't get us all!" Someone yells out from within the crowd, clearly not anyone involved but nonetheless impassioned by the message.

"It was Harry Potter!" Someone else calls out. The fear immediately dissipates, replaces with a rebellious energy Draco hasn't seen since Potter left. For a brief moment, his own emotions take over as pride swells within him. _It worked_. The hall is soon full of cheers for the absent Boy Who Lived.

"I don't know what you've done, and I don't want to know, but I hope you've thought this through." Pansy mutters as she leans closer to Draco. The blond glances at her, keeping his expression neutral, and nods. "Good. Don't tell me anything."

"Tell you what?" The Slytherin girl nods approvingly, returning to watch the raucous students.

"_Silence_!" Snape suddenly calls out, breaking through the noise. His calm exterior cracks, revealing the anger resting beneath. To everyone else, he likely just looks angry, but Draco recognises the concern. He'd had it thrown in his face all last year, after every stumble, every failure. And it's strange. Of course, Draco knows that the Headmaster cares about some of the students—at the very least, there are the Slytherins who are otherwise quiet during all this. He knows that, to some degree, Snape's views reflect his mother's enough for her to place so much trust in him. But to be this concerned, something seems off. "Everyone, return to your dormitories. A full investigation will begin tomorrow."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The last thing Enoch remembers is the fireworks filling the ceiling, everything going to plan, and then the hall being filled with a strong burst of hope and excitement. Normally a promising sign, the emotions were _too_ strong for Enoch. And now he's back in the Hospital Wing, unsure of how much time has passed or what happened during it. Madam Pomfrey informs him that the fireworks did indeed go off and the teachers are furious, but that is all. She refuses to discuss it further, saying resting is more important than gossip. Rest feels impossible right now, though.

Surprisingly, he is allowed a visitor. Madam Pomfrey is very sternly informing said visitor that he's only allowed to stay for a few minutes, no creating any excitement or talking about this evening, and to be quiet. And then, around the corner, is Draco. The blond offers him a small smile as he sits down on the chair already resting beside Enoch's bed.

"I told her I was dropping off Alchemy notes I promised I was going to give you before everything happened. These are my actual notes though, so I'll need them back." Draco says as he places a small pile of papers on the bedside table. Glancing around briefly, he reaches out and puts his hand over Enoch's. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it just got a bit too noisy. I should've expected it."

"I'm sorry. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Enoch shakes his head, smiling reassuringly at him. "It was a success, by the way. You did really well."

"I just threw some things. We all did well."

"We did." Draco picks up Enoch's hand, pressing it against his lips, before he gets to his feet. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. Have a good sleep."

"You too. Thank you for stopping by." Before Pomfrey can tell either of them off, Draco has left the Hospital Wing and, feeling more at ease, Enoch settles in to sleep. By the time she's made her final rounds, she's pleased to note that all her patients are sleeping soundly, and retired to bed herself. 


	12. Chapter 11

The number of the Dumbledore's Army members that show up is, unsurprisingly, small compared to their actual numbers. The trio had been expecting this so, when Philip sees all that have arrived to the room that used to be their training area, he isn't disappointed. There's still a decent amount—Philip recognises students from all the Houses. All of them seem to be waiting for something, unsure but determined.

"Hey guys, what's this?" Neville calls out, finally noticing the carefully placed letter resting up next to the Army's other pictures. The others begin to gather around, all curious to see what might be written on the letter. It soon becomes apparent that they all can't read at once and so, Neville reads it to them. "_I'm glad you all came. I can't be there right now, as it's dangerous and there are other tasks I have to attend to, but I will do my best to direct you from where I am. I don't think you really need my help, you're all capable and competent leaders, just a push. I'm trying to get new tokens for you all, so spread the Army as far as you can. Protect the younger students, show the Dark Lord that we're not scared. Do what you all do best: give them hell_."

Philip still thinks the letter could have been written better. But, at that point, Draco had been barely listening to him and he'd barely been trying. It seems to be enough though, as the Army starts treating it as a letter written by Harry himself.

"I knew it." One student whispers, wide smile resting on his face. Similar expressions are mirrored on all their faces. They're no longer alone, lost. Harry Potter is still out there. He's still doing what he does best. It's almost disgusting that it's Draco's mastermind eliciting these emotions. Either he's a skilled manipulator or Enoch really is having an effect on him, perhaps both.

There is still one dilemma: for a brief moment, they are still leaderless. Even the fake letter Harry makes it clear that he is only there to push them, they still need someone to be the figurehead. They need someone to create a plan now, to decide what they're going to do. But even this is solved pretty quickly.

"We need to figure out who we can and can't trust. We can't grow our numbers if we don't know who will betray us the first chance they get." Ginny speaks up, instantly becoming one of the new leaders. The group starts to collect so that she stands at the head, Neville and Luna on either side. "Obviously the Slytherins can't really be trusted. Most of them have connections to Death Eaters."

"Slimy bastards." Someone mutters. There are murmurs of agreement, sentiments Philip can't help but echoing.

"Who else can't we trust? Even the slightest bit of distrust, we can afford to lose something that's only just been revived." Ginny asks, starting the discussion. Names are called out, brief discussions regarding whether or not the reasons are valid. Philip provides what he can, the gossip he's picked up here and there.

But eventually they reach the name he'd been dreading, that he'd been hoping wouldn't get brought up. _Enoch_. The same argument is made: he was close last year and they've been seen together since. Not only have they been seen together, they've been seen sneaking around. If they're sneaking, they're hiding and that's worse than openly associating with one another. Philip does his best to vouch for Enoch but, the second the idea is put in everyone's head, it won't get out. Enoch is not only put down on the figurative 'don't trust' list, but also the 'potentially allies with the Death Eaters' list.

And that's really the last straw. Philip has had it with Draco.   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


"Okay, so, courtship is basically a long process to determine the... well, the longevity and potential for a relationship to develop further." Draco explains as he and Enoch meet up, managing to get the Room of Requirement while the Army isn't using it. While it's good at the rebellion seems to be more focused now, it has been cutting into the couple's own meeting times and Draco doesn't appreciate that. But, with their three month anniversary fast approaching, the blond wants to make sure they're on the same page. "In the case of an arranged marriage, it usually goes faster, but ours would be a lot slower and less committed. There won't be any shame if, somewhere down the track, it doesn't work out. But the way it works is, _typically_, gifts are exchanged and there are several meetings between families and couples to judge suitability and to show the family's own wealth. We can't do any of the meetings, but we can do the rest."

"The gifts?"

Draco nods, "The first set, at least, are fairly simple. I initiated this courtship so I'll give you a piece of jewellery that represents the request to formally begin the courtship, my family, and the promise of protection. Then you'd give me one that represents your answer, family, and that same promise."

"How does it work?"

"There are particular gemstones and materials you have to use but I don't remember exactly. The first gemstone is a garnet and my piece to you would be silver, yours to me would be rose gold, but I'll find out exacts." Enoch nods, listening intently. Draco is touched by how serious he's already taking it. "I'm not sure how to find your family symbol either, only that mine is a dragon. It might be on your crest... You'll have more time to figure that out, you don't have to give me one back straight away."

"I'll figure it out."

"Oh, that's the only other thing. You have to place a small protective charm on it, that's what symbolises the promise of protection. There's a lot of symbolism in all of this but, honestly, I've forgotten a little bit and we're improvising anyway, so don't feel like you have to be exact. If this all works out, we can do it properly once everything is over."

"I'd like that. I'll still do my best, but I'd like to do everything properly too." Enoch rests his head on Draco's shoulder, bringing the comforting warmth of his body heat.

"It'll be fine, no matter what. Just coming from you..." The warmth grows unnaturally and Draco knows he's said the right thing. It's the truth, anyway. He wraps his arm around Enoch and they stay there, pressed close to one another. Draco can sense the soft smell of roses, combining with Enoch's normal perfume.

It would be nice if things could stay this way forever. Perfect and safe, in their small little world.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  


"I'll pay you back, but if I were to ask my parents for a necklace that suspiciously matched the exact requirements of a courtship ring, they would know what was happening immediately." Draco all but begs Theo, having just asked if he could instead ask his mother to have the necklace commissioned for him. The other boy lets out a heavy sigh, clearly acting put out. "I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't have another option. It's too expensive for me to buy myself without causing suspicions with costs, and I can't ask them for it."

"You're really going to court him, huh?"

"I thought it might make Mother and Father take the news better, if I announced we were seeing each other. And I really care about him." Draco confesses, hating the way a smirk curls across Theo's lips. It's not malicious, but the blond knows he's opening himself up for teasing and Merlin knows what else. Curse his desperation and limited resources. "_Please_, Theo."

"Okay, okay. But you're paying me back double and I get to be the best man at your wedding."

"It's not an engagement... But, you would be anyway, if that ever happens." Theo nods slowly, unconvinced. But, at this point, Draco doesn't care; he's too relieved that his friend has agreed to help. He had expected to have to fight more, do more, but he's glad he didn't have to.

Their conversation doesn't have the chance to continue further as they're interrupted by a particular Gryffindor. Philip approaches Draco, glaring daggers. If looks could kill, Draco would be a dead man. For the sake of appearances, he dons on a scowl while, internally, he's concerned. Not for the cold treatment, but because the other boy is actually associating with him in public.

"We need to talk." Philip glances at Theo before he adds, "Privately."

"Theo knows everything. He can come." Philip doesn't seem convinced, still watching the other Slytherin with distrust, but still doesn't waste time leading them to a private place. He chooses an abandoned classroom, pushing a chair against the closed door. When he turns to Draco, the anger has turned to fury and Philip really looks ready to kill.

"I thought Enoch was a neutral party. I thought he was staying out of it all." The boy spits, storming up to the blond. "I thought you two were no longer going to be seen in public—there wasn't going to be any reason for either of you to be associated with one another. I tolerated you because of that promise, that Enoch's reputation wasn't going to get tainted by your disgusting presence."

Draco chooses to ignore the insults.

"He is. That's always been the plan."

"Then why am I having to sit through talks about how we can't trust him because he's _friends _with you. He's lost the D.A's protection because of _you_. He's as bad as all you Slytherins in their eyes." Cold fear spreads through Draco's body, starting in his stomach. This wasn't a part of any plan. How could they have already failed so horribly? "You've doomed him! I can't even defend him. Some neutral party—now he's too bad to be on our side, too good to be on your side."

"_How_?"

"I don't know—you tell me! Someone caught you two sneaking around." Philip takes a few paces back, tense and angry. Fists clenched, he throws his hands into the air before letting them drop back down to his side. "He's going to have to pick a side. He's going to have to pick a side a-a-and I can't be sure he's going to pick the _right _side. And I sure as hell don't trust you."

"I swear, whatever happens, I'm not going to let any harm come to him."

"Yeah, sure, because that's worked pretty well for you so far. Like I said, I'm not about to trust some Death Eater that let a whole group of other Death Eaters into the school right after you started dating. Not to mention, almost killed Dumbledore and led to his death anyway." Draco has been avoiding thinking about that night. It's easier to ignore it than address it. But, with Philip throwing it right in his face, it's incredibly difficult to push away.

"Make an Unbreakable Vow." Theo comments all too casually. All eyes turn to him, disbelieving that he'd even suggest it. But he shrugs carelessly, looking incredibly bored. "If you're both as committed as you act, you're probably going to have to put your own lives on the line anyway. Which is stupid, but neither of you are particularly intelligent. I know the theory of the magic; just make a Vow, promise to protect him within your abilities, and we can move on. I've got things I want to work on."

Philip looks at Draco. Draco looks at Philip. They really are stupid.

"So long as we choose the words carefully..." Draco comments.

"And neither of you try and trick me into vowing to do something that's just gonna get me killed." Philip adds.

The next few minutes are filled with figuring out what phrases might work, and what might not. Philip reluctantly has to agree that there may be moments where potentially endangering Enoch might, realistically, be the safer path. But, eventually, they get there. All three parties are satisfied with the vow—or, at least, Draco and Philip are. Theo still seems incredibly bored, muttering something about this sounding more exciting in his head.

There, in the empty classroom, Draco and Philip grasp hands. Theo's wand hovers above their hands, before tapping it lightly. Strands of light start to link between their hands. Clearing his throat, he speaks, "While the Dark Lord continues on this path, do you, Draco Malfoy, promise to not consciously endanger Enoch Desrosiers unless the situation appears to require such endangerment for the sake of his long term survival?"

"I do." Draco responds, maintaining eye contact with Philip. _Merlin_, this is a horrible idea.

"And do you promise that you will protect him to the best of your abilities, when you are able, without endangerment of your own life unless completely unavoidable?"

Draco pauses, every rational part of his being screaming him to stop.

"I do."

"And, while the Dark Lord continues on this path, do you, Philip Densmore, promise to watch out for Enoch to the best of your ability, to protect him where you can without the endangerment of your own life unless completely unavoidable?"

"I do."

The magical flames encircling their hands grows brighter, the Vow sealed, before they disappear. The weight of his actions weigh down on Draco. But, funnily enough, he doesn't feel any regret. He would have done the same anyway, Vow or no Vow.

Now, however, he has something he can use to his advantage...


	13. Chapter 12

Draco doesn't like visiting the Headmaster's office. Even empty, the previous Headmaster's portrait only reminds him of _that _night. Sitting at Snape's desk, waiting for the older man to be free, Draco finds himself staring at the portrait where Dumbledore is sleeping. But all he can really see is a flash of green, an already weak old man losing all strength—_dying_, the grounds in flames, the hall a wreck. The Dumbledore in the portrait doesn't seem to hold any of it against him, but then neither did the alive Dumbledore. It doesn't make Draco feel any better, even if he didn't land the killing blow.

"Okay. You wanted to talk to me, Draco?" Snape asks as he pushes some paperwork to the side, looking up at the younger man. Draco is pulled rather roughly from his thoughts, practically jumping at the sudden voice. He nods his head quickly, hoping to hide the shock.

"You're still under Vow to protect me, aren't you?" The Headmaster nods. There's a suspicious glint in his eye, perhaps concerned where this might be going. And he should be. "Then I think it's only fair that you're aware I've also made an Unbreakable Vow myself."

And there it is: that look that's clearly judging Draco's decision making, that clearly thinks he's a stupid child that doesn't realise what he's doing. Draco got a lot of that last year, which infuriated him to no end. It infuriates him now too. He knows what he's doing. He knows it better than Snape would.

"What could possibly have possessed you to do something like that?" The man asks after a short pause. "What did you Vow to?"

"I vowed to protect Enoch Desrosiers. You know him?"

"The empath that transferred last year?" Draco nods. "_Why_? I wasn't aware you two were particularly close outside of class."

"We're very close. He's one of my best friends." Draco crosses his arms over his chest, prepared to fight against any comments that might be made. He's prepared for Snape to say something against Enoch and, should he choose to do so, he'll be in for an argument. However, he's unsure how much of their relationship he should truthfully divulge. That should be enough, but he's unsure if knowing more might offer more protection. Draco wouldn't mind an adult that's even at least practically family knowing, to have someone to talk to. But Snape is also one of the closest to Voldemort, Vow or no Vow. "I wanted to protect him one way or another, but I thought I should let you know. Especially given protecting me includes protecting him."

When Snape speaks, his voice is drenched with sarcasm, "Thank you for informing me."

"I have one way you can help him now."

"Do tell."

"I've been trying but I can't teach him Occlumency. I don't know what I'm doing wrong but it hasn't been working." They'd had a few sessions before they'd agreed that, under Draco's guidance, they weren't going to get anywhere. Enoch could occasionally keep a very weak wall up but even the slightest push from Draco would bring it crashing down. More often than not, Draco gets straight into his memories with no resistance. "But you taught me, so maybe you can teach him."

"I can try, but he may just be naturally weak at it." Draco doesn't like Snape's disparaging tone.

"He's not." The older male remains unconvinced.

"Have him see me tomorrow after dinner. I will see what I can do." Draco thanks him, relief rushing through him. He really had expected to put up more of a fight, but apparently the Vow is enough. With that done, the blond prepares to leave. But before he does, the Headmaster speaks up, "Draco, you wouldn't know anything about what happened in the Great Hall the other day?"

So far, it seems as if the teachers' investigations around the Army's resurrection have been unsuccessful. Fortunately, it seems Fred and George haven't incriminated Enoch and no one in school, naturally, is aware of who was involved. Draco isn't sure if Philip was questioned yet but, if he was, he didn't fold. At most, Draco has noticed the Carrows have been more sensitive to some of the Gryffindors' slip ups and harsher with their punishments.

"Of course not. Why would I?" Draco responds as innocently as he can. "I imagine it was just some Gryffindors. I can't imagine Potter would be competent enough to get in and out without getting noticed."

"No, most likely not. If you hear anything, come straight to me."   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


"You did _what_?" Enoch exclaims, feeling all sorts of anger and frustration.

"Philip and I vowed that we wouldn't knowingly endanger you." Having Draco repeat this, worded only slightly different, doesn't help Enoch. In fact, it possibly worsens his own emotions. It's so incredibly stupid, no matter the sentiment.

"Why would you– Neither of you are ever going to do that– It's so stupid!" Enoch exclaims, unable to keep it from his tone either. Draco looks taken aback, feels worried. "Now either one of you could die if you fail. You could trip me over, put me in danger of seriously hurting myself, and suddenly you're dead. Suddenly I've lost you or Philip because you both stupidly decided you needed to make a goddamn Unbreakable Vow to protect me."

"We worded it carefully–"

"That's not the point! You didn't have to worry about wording because you didn't even have to worry about making an Unbreakable Vow in the first place." Enoch paces once before ending up right back in front of Draco. It doesn't make him feel any better. Concern and anxiety is mixing with the anger and frustration, creating one horrible concoction. "I can take care of myself. I'm not helpless. I don't _need_ your protection. You didn't even talk to me—didn't even ask me how I felt about it all."

"It was a bit spur of the moment..." Enoch just glares at Draco. "It's not that we didn't think you can't take care of yourself. It was more a matter of do we trust the other person to not endanger you."

"Do either of you even listen to me? Surely if you trust me, you can at least trust that I trust the other person."

"It's not that simple. Seven years of house rivalry, with my reputation, don't go away so easily." Enoch decides not to answer. Instead, he draws his wand and, with a smooth flick of his wrist, Draco finds himself surrounded by a thin wall of bubbles. The brunet stares at him for a second before stomping off, flopping down on one of the couches.

He's sick of feeling helpless. He's sick of being treated like someone who needs to be protected, like someone who's weak and incapable of doing so themselves. He's none of those things. He _knows_ he's none of those things. But that does nothing to reduce the sting to his pride.

When the bubbles eventually pop, Draco moves over to where Enoch is lying on the couch. He crouches down beside and and the younger can feel the guilt radiating from him. He lets the blond reach up and run his fingers through his hair, but continues to keep the upset expression on his face.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, I didn't think about how you might feel." The Slytherin apologises earnestly.

"I just don't want to be treated like some child, or even object, that can't take care of themselves. Just because I don't fight doesn't mean I can't—I could beat you if I wanted to." The smallest, fond smile curls itself against Draco's lips as he nods. "I appreciate the concern but no more treating me like I need so much protection."

"I won't. But you really should go see Snape—he'll do a better job than I have been doing."

"I will. Come cuddle me." Draco happily obliges, given the younger the cuddles he demands. As he wraps his arms around him, there's a rush of petrichor and Enoch assumes the full moon must be getting close. He's never paid much attention to moon cycles, never had much interest in them, but Draco's scent keeps him updated on that. He decides not to mention it—the blond is probably already aware of his upcoming change. "I sent a letter to Elijah about courtship. If anyone I can talk to is going to know about it, it'll be him. And he just likes knowing things so I don't think he'd even get suspicious."

"Excellent. I was going to bother Theo about it but I don't think he'd care enough to remember—maybe Pansy or Blaise but I'd have to be careful how I asked." Draco's voice vibrates in his chest. His chest is warm too, far warmer than usual but not worryingly so. It's just comfortable. Safe. Nice. "Let me know what he says. He'll likely know more than me."

"I want to stay this way forever." Draco is silent for a few seconds, the space filled only with his quiet breaths. He runs his fingers through Enoch's hair, which is starting to grow longer. His longer curls are starting to return, which the blond seems happy about.

"Me too." Draco responds eventually, but his touch brings the hint of brine and vinegar. Enoch pulls away just enough to place a kiss on his forehead, putting as much love as he can through the emotions. He's not sure how effective it is, but Draco doesn't feel so sad afterwards.   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"What do you know of Occlumency?" Snape asks as he unrolls a utility belt, withdrawing his wand from one of the pockets. He turns to Enoch, who has been seated at the chair on one side of the Headmaster's desk. Up close, the concern that radiates from his stronger, mingling with the loneliness and sadness. That dark chocolate is as strong as ever, the one refuge in an otherwise unpleasant concoction of emotions.

"I'm supposed to close my mind and control my emotions."

"Very good. Have you successfully managed to do so yet, even once?" Enoch shakes his head. At this, Snape raises his wand, outstretched and pointed towards the younger. "Attempt to close your mind against my attempts and we will work from there. Prepare yourself... _Legilimens_."

Enoch suddenly feels a presence worming its way through his emotions. His last meeting with Draco is pulled to the surface and he's watching as the other boy tells him of the Unbreakable Vow. Then he's yelling at Draco, trapping him inside the bubble wall. And there's Snape, watching the memory unfold. Enoch does everything he was told—he tries to push his thoughts down, tries to keep Snape from seeing more. But the memory doesn't move; Snape watches as Draco escapes his prison and crouches down beside him.

The presence withdraws and Enoch is back in the office.

"That is the sort of information that would be used against you. Protect it." Snape pauses, gliding closer to Enoch's chair. He stops a few metres away and looks down at him. "You can sense other's emotions, yes?"

"I can, just not as emotions."

"Try protecting your memories the same way you might protect your emotions, or push me out as you would other's emotions. _Control _your emotions. Again." Enoch can't stop Snape from entering his mind, plucking another memory from his mind. Draco is smiling at him, holding him close. It's a simple memory, but a happy one. First, Enoch tries to simply push Snape out but, as usual, he doesn't move. So he tries something else. He controls his emotions. He doesn't push them away, he lets himself feel.

The happiness vanishes as the memory shifts. Enoch is trapped in the corridor, noisy students spread in all the available space. They bump him, touch him, fill him with their emotions. He's drowning, soaked in vinegar and brine and sugar. In amongst the cacophony of emotions is his own fear and nausea, that helplessness. He shouldn't have come to school; he should have stayed at home. He was never going to survive here. Enoch lets himself fall into the emotions, pulling Snape down with him. There's no Draco to rescue them here. It's just Enoch, just Snape, and the memory-brunet hasn't learnt how to save himself just yet.

Snape withdraws but it isn't as gentle as last time, like recoiling from a hot pan. Reality settles, the emotions leave, but Snape's own emotions have worsened since entering the memory. The older man takes a few steps back, looking unsteady.

"What was that?"

"A bad memory. You said to control your emotions but controlling mine wasn't working."

"So instead you... _What_ did you do?"

"I don't know. I made you feel what I was feeling." There a gap of silence as the Headmaster nods slowly, still looking a little shaken. Enoch reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lemon lolly, offering it to the older male. "These help me when the emotions get too much."

Snape hesitates. He stares at the extended hand before, slowly, he takes the lolly. He doesn't seem totally pleased with his own actions but eats the lolly anyway. Almost immediately, his expression contorts into one only achieved with sour food, if a little milder. Enoch can't help but laugh loudly, perhaps exaggerated with the excitement created by his previous stress. The Headmaster frowns at him, suspicion filling him.

"You look just like Draco." The brunet exclaims, laughter still resting in his voice. "He pulled that same expression when he first had one."

"It's disgustingly sour."

"Yeah, that's what helps. It has to be stronger than the emotions, or it's not going to do anything." Snape nods slowly, unconvinced. But, Enoch notes happily, he's still eating the lolly.

"You clearly have a gift, if under-utilised. Do you know the limits of your empathy?" Enoch shakes his head. He thought he had last year, before he started school, but then he discovered he could take emotions if he wanted badly enough. "I would like you to keep attending sessions with me to strengthen your Occlumency but also test your powers. Do you know how to defend yourself?"

"Yes, of course. You saw me fight Draco last year."

"Draco was neglecting his studies last year. Anyone with a shred of skill could have beat him. But, you have the basics. Can you use your powers to defend yourself?"

"If you're close enough, if I can touch you."

"We will determine a way to increase your range. However, until then, demonstrate." Snape closes the distance between them, extending his hand. Enoch removes his glove, placing it carefully on his lap, before he reaches out to the older male. A wash of emotions roll over the brunet but he fights them, refusing to go with the flow. He pushes against and, feeling bad about the memory, he lets the warmth and happiness spread through his fingertips. He pushes until he can no longer feel Snape's emotions, almost reaching his limit. Fortunately, the Headmaster pulls his hand away before he can. "I hope you realise making them happy is not a defense."

"No, but I can do the same with negative emotions. I just didn't want to with you."

"Very well." Snape moves away, back to his utility belt. He places his wand inside before rolling it up again. "Return to your dormitory and rest. We have a lot of work to do before you could even be considered adequately protected, but it is a start."


	14. Chapter 13

Growing up, Draco had always been taught that relationships were purely business. He was told that, after he graduated, he would be expected to start the courtship process with an eligible match. His parents were kind enough to assure him that he would be able to choose his preference from a list and that he would be allowed to end the courtship should it not work out, but it would never completely be his choice. It would always be dictated by whose reputation was best, whose blood was the purest. And so he quickly decided he just didn't care about any of it and didn't even bother trying to mess about while he had some freedom. He did try dating Pansy briefly because she would have been someone he might have had to marry one day but, despite being perfect on paper, they quickly agreed they would never be anything but friends. They'd marry if there was no one else, but there'd never be any romance.

Draco wonders what his parents would think if they discovered he was dating Enoch. If it weren't for the muggle blood, the empath would probably be perfectly acceptable. But he's not. He wonders if he'd get disowned for starting the courtship process. He's not sure he even cares. He'd like to choose something for himself for once.

He's not even sure, after school, he even wants to go into a Ministry job. He'd like to do something else—he's just not sure what yet. Draco is tired of doing what everyone else wants him to do, to be that perfect Malfoy. Maybe being disowned wouldn't be so bad. Well... it would be horrible. He'd have no money, no home, no family. But he'd also have no expectations. He'd probably have no life, though. He can't see the Dark Lord being happy with him if he's being disowned.

For once in his life, Draco hopes Potter wins. Merlin, what a disgusting feeling.

Though, thinking on it further—because that's all Draco has time for now as he waits for Enoch, he's not even sure it _is_ a disgusting feeling. Reflexively, he hates it but... Potter is probably his only hope at being free from all this. He's managed to defy the Dark Lord this far without capture; that's more than Draco can say. Maybe when all this is over, if Potter wins, he'll shake his hand. Maybe he'll even apologise for being such a prat. No, he won't apologise. Potter wasn't much better. He might settle for just a 'thank you'. If he's even alive...

Enoch is taking far too long. Draco has started heading down quite uncomfortable trains of thought.

His necklace, which finally arrived this week, hangs between his fingers. He holds it up, letting it spin softly in the air above him, catching the light. A simple chain holds a small, silver dragon curled around an almandine garnet. The dragon, wings flapping idly as it adjusts itself against Draco's movement, is intricately carved; the tiniest details in its eyes and scales haven't been missed, small but sharp teeth bared as it snaps at the air. It's perfect. Draco isn't even sure his parents could have picked a better gift.

The Room of Requirement's door opens, fortunately revealing Enoch, and the blond has to quickly stuff the necklace into his pocket. He hasn't told Enoch that it's arrived yet, wanting to keep the presentation a surprise. But he can't keep the nerves from bubbling up inside of him and knows that's probably already betrayed him. If it does, the empath says nothing.

Draco gets to his feet, closing the distance between them, before he's pulled into a tight hug. There's movement as Howie climbs from Enoch's pocket. Claws dig into the blond's skin, grabbing his clothes, before the ferret makes himself comfortable on the Slytherin's shoulders. As Enoch chuckles, Draco can feel Howie tickle his cheek softly, can see the blurry white shape of his head in the corner of his eye. The blond hasn't seen the ferret in a while so he gives the pet a small scratch that seems to make him happy.

"Come sit down." Draco says, taking Enoch's hand and directing him towards their couch. His own hands are sweaty. He's never had sweaty hands before. This is just a gift; he shouldn't be so nervous. But as Enoch looks at him, so happy and warm, and Draco doesn't know what to say. He had hoped he could say something nice, something that adequately captured all the gratitude he has for Enoch, all the warmth he holds for him. But he can't. He doesn't know why, but he can't. The words don't form and he sits in silence for too long. He pulls the necklace from his pocket, letting it hang in the air. Free from its confines, the dragon stretches slightly. "The courtship necklace arrived. So, Enoch Desrosiers, I formally extend the invitation to enter courtship with you."

Growing up, this was always going to be Draco's parents job so he never bothered to learn it. He only knows the dot points. What would his mother say?

_'Don't be so cold, Draco. You sound like your father at work.'_ She scolds in his ear and Draco feels her affectionate presence, that comforting hand around his own. _'Do you want to work with him, or do you want to date him?'_

It's hard.

_'I know, but I believe in you. Go on—tell him how you feel. _Properly_.'_

"I mean, I really like you. Perhaps against my better judgement, I do. So, if you still want to, this– this necklace represents the potential future our families might have together. Without so much commitment."

_'It could be better, but... it will do.'_

Enoch doesn't seem to mind. He's still all smiles, if a little more smiley than when they started. Unexpectedly, the brunet suddenly launches himself at the blond, startling both Draco and Howie. Draco finds himself pinned against the arm of the chair, arms hovering awkwardly between Enoch's. The Hufflepuff lowers just enough to kiss the Slytherin, bringing that familiar flood of roses. They smell stronger than usual, but not unpleasantly so. Like walking through a rose garden in full bloom. Draco lets his hands rest on Enoch's back, holding the boy closer.

Draco's lips are buzzing when Enoch pulls away. He slithers his arms through the gap, unclasping the necklace. When Enoch doesn't object, he reaches up and places it on Enoch's neck. Recognising its owner, the dragon flaps its wings happily.

"The dragon is designed to be a ring but, obviously, we can't wear rings. So it fits on a necklace as well." Draco informs Enoch, voice barely louder than a whisper. The brunet is still close; there's no need to be loud. Draco feels like speaking any louder might shatter the moment. "But, if you wanted, it could be worn on your finger and... It's charmed. Obviously. But, if you wear it on your finger near food, if it's poisoned, it should heat up."

"I love it." Enoch is whispering too. He kisses Draco again, but it's softer this time. Everything feels so soft. Draco is floating. "I love you."

Draco is melting.   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


_Dear Enoch,_

_No, I haven't studied myself to death yet. You're very funny. Mother isn't pushing me too hard, now that she can see I'm actually doing quite well in my studies. I am studying, of course, but it's nothing I can't handle._

_But, onto more exciting things: yes, that does sound like a courtship item! I can't believe you saw one of those at school. Well, I can believe it. Only if it's a Pureblood. Purebloods can get pretty crazy with their traditions, and they like to start young. Luckily, Mother didn't want anything like relationships and courtships distracting me from my studies so I haven't had to worry about that just yet. I wonder, do muggles have any strange customs like that? They'd have to, surely. Muggles are so strange, their courtship just has to be too._

_In my study breaks, I looked into courtship for you. I'm not sure which version you wanted, or how intense, so I just looked into all of it. So, please, sit back and enjoy Elijah's Guide to Pureblood Courtship._

_To begin with, usually it's arranged by the parents. More traditional parents will have agreements with other Pureblood parents, typically arranged before the children are even born or only young. It's decided based on what each family can provide the other, each family is trying to marry up or equal (should they be at, or believe they are at, the top) so there is a lot of showing off. The showing off continues through the courtship too. But, more progressive parents might let the child choose from a list of options. Rarely does the child get complete freedom of choice, unless they should choose someone adequate fairly early on._

_Once the pairing is decided and the children are deemed old enough (what age this is varies depending on the parents and what book you read), the courtship begins. Sometimes they go straight to engagement but, if the parents are unsure, they have a less strict version. This just allows the children and parents to test the waters, ensure everyone is happy with this arrangement. If the engagement was cancelled, it'd be a scandal but, if the longer courtship was cancelled, it would generally be fine depending on the circumstances around the cancellation._

_Now, if the parents decide to take the longer route, the parents or child of one family will present the other with typically a ring (some sources suggest the type of jewellery here is less relaxed because it's not total commitment yet) as a form of request to enter courtship. It will be a silver piece of jewellery that reflects whatever symbol belongs to the family (Pureblood families are small so there's little overlap) with an almandine garnet incorporated somewhere. If the other family accepts, they will return this with a rose gold piece following the same requirements. The child has to charm the jewellery themselves with a small protective spell (again, each family usually has one particular one they traditionally use that likely connects to their symbol) to show both that they're capable of doing so and represent that promise that they will continue to protect the other child and their family. This piece of jewellery cannot be removed, within very strict reason, or else it's seen as a cancellation of the courtship. I suspect this is the jewellery you saw._

_After this, there will be several more meetings with families and children. The child must present itself to the other immediate and extended family, essentially sell themselves to them. The parents themselves will do the same, though they will meet fewer family members. The duration of this period will largely depend on the availability of the family members and the parents and children. But, once everyone is satisfied, engagement will begin. In terms of commitment, engagement is the same as marriage. That's why it would be such scandal if it's cancelled. _   
  
  
  
  
  


Elijah's Guide to Pureblood Courtship continues for another seven pages in his small, neat handwriting. He ends it claiming he hasn't finished reading everything, so there could still be more to come.

Enoch reads all of it, but still feels completely overwhelmed. Why do Purebloods have to have so many rules? He wants to do a good job but there's so many intricate things he's supposed to follow. Even if they are cutting corners... That only makes those other rules all the more important to complete successfully.

Eventually, the brunet just puts the letters away in their envelope. He writes a letter to his Maman and ask if she might buy him a necklace. Nothing too expensive, he emphasises; just a little thing representing his family because he's starting to feel left out with some strange wizarding custom.

He hopes she doesn't see through his lies. He doesn't want to explain himself just yet, even if she would be fine.


	15. Chapter 14

Philip doesn't want to ask Draco for help. They may have a truce but that doesn't make them friends. But he doesn't have any other options. No one else is as close to their enemy, to the teachers. So he bites his pride, for the sake of his Gryffindors.

"I need your help." Philip confesses after pulling the blond to the side between classes. His voice is more desperate than he intended or would like. Even Draco notices, curiosity and apprehension alight in his grey eyes. "Some of the Gryffindors are planning to take something from the Headmaster's office but... well, obviously, it's gonna end badly if they get caught."

"Horribly. The Carrows are itching for something to take their anger out on." The trio still hasn't been caught for their revival of the Army. As far as Philip can tell, the investigations are starting to die down.

"Exactly. They won't be convinced out of it—believe me, I tried—but if we could find a way to make sure they're not rushing in when the Carrows or Snape are nearby..." Surprisingly, Draco doesn't immediately dismiss this idea. As he nods, he glances around their secluded area and pulls Philip deeper into it. They find themselves hidden behind a pillar, buried in the soft shadows. "Give me a week. Tell them you heard the Carrows are still investigating and they're even more suspicious than usual. I was toying with something but, by the end of the week, I'll have it."

"Thank you." Relief fills Philip's voice. The corner of Draco's lip curls upwards and it looks wrong. He lacks the glint the Gryffindor is so used to seeing.

"No worries. If it isn't going to put me or my family in immediate danger, I don't mind helping where I can." Draco looks around again but they're still alone. "How is everything going, apart from that, with them?"

"Fine. We're all still getting our footing, but it's better than before. Thinking Harry is watching out for us has really bolstered things."

The blond nods, "Like I said, I'm toying with things but they may take some time."

"It's fine. We have some leaders settling in for now."

"That's good... Are you any good with Charms?"

"Terrible."

"I thought as much." Draco shrugs his shoulders with a soft sigh, as Philip wonders if he's supposed to be insulted or not. He assumes as much, coming from Draco, but doesn't push it. These things will probably go smoother if they're communicating, rather than arguing. Besides, he'd rather be done with this as soon as possible. Fortunately, Draco seems to be of the same mind. "I have some... homework to do."

"Yeah. Me too." With a small nod of his head, Draco departs. Philip does the same only a few seconds later, leaving in the opposite direction only to reduce suspicions. He actually needs to go the same way as the Slytherin   
  
  
  
  
  


Draco keeps to his word. A week later, Dumbledore's Army receives a message for a new meeting over the weekend. As soon as the time comes around, they all gather in the Room or Requirement, filled with anticipation. While Ginny and Neville has been using the coins to organise meetings, once everyone in the room claims that it wasn't them that organised it, they all reach the assumption that it must be Harry that called them. This assumption is only strengthened further when they notice the box full of coins similar to their current ones.

A note resting on the top reads: _For newcomers, those who lost their coins, and even those who held onto theirs. We've improved on the design so now they can send short messages, the same as they sent dates before. I have a master coin still, but all of them can send messages._

Ginny is the first to try. All the coins, now distributed amongst the present members, heat up within their hands. The message—"Thank you, Harry"—reads around the edges of the coin. They all watch their coins expectantly—_hopefully_.

The coins heat up again: _No worries. H._

And then again: _I know what you want to do. H._

And again: _Tomorrow, after dinner. The Carrows will be busy for a little. Go then. H._

The supposed Harry grows quiet after this, but his messages remain. The edge of the coin slowly flashes between all of them, starting at Ginny's, before they all start to stop reappearing. Only his final one remains, answering Philip's request. He silently thanks Draco—which feels wrong. For all the things that changed at Hogwarts, he never thought they would have changed so drastically that he might consider Draco an ally. It really does feel wrong.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco paces from one side of the hallway to the other, and then back and forth once again. He runs through the plan in his mind, trying to make sure he hasn't missed anything. It's simple, really; he waits until dinner is over, he yells at the Carrows, he keeps them distracted long enough that the Gryffindors should be able to get in and out. It should be simple enough; the Carrows are stupid enough to buy anything. But he's directly involved, right in the centre, and should they suspect foul play...

But they won't. Draco will make sure of it. The blond pauses at one edge of the hallway, where a torch hangs low enough for him to see his warp reflection in its metal casing. He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling the light strands forwards and into an adequately dishevelled state. The worry leaves Draco's expression, transformed into an urgent, wide-eyed look. He can hear the sounds of students returning to their dormitories, the chatter and footsteps filling the hall. Feeling content with his appearance and the act he's created, the blond turns the corner and pushes through the now growing body of students. They move out of his way easily, likely afraid of upsetting the cold Slytherin and apparent Death Eater. Despite it being exactly what he needs right now, Draco hates it.

The Carrows have, fortunately, not moved from their seats at the head of the hall. Draco increases his speed and breathing, pushing all the unnecessary emotions behind the wall. They're just hampering his performance.

"Professor!" Draco exclaims, drawing attention to him. He's pleased to note the Carrow's both seem to immediately expect the worst, identical frowns resting on both their brows. "I think I saw someone sneaking about on the grounds."

The siblings are quick to believe Draco's lie and, thankfully, quick to spring to their feet as well. The other professors still lingering watch on curiously, perhaps nervously, but they seemingly decide to leave this to the Carrows.

"Where? Who was it?" The brother demands.

"I'm not sure who—it was dark. But they were–" Draco pauses as he pretends to ponder how best to direct the siblings. Both seem to be growing more and more annoyed by the second, precious seconds ticking by. It's exactly what the blond wants. "It might be better if I just showed you."

The Carrows take the bait, perhaps too impatient to try and get a proper answer out of him. Instead they hurry him along, lest the fictional individual is given any more time to escape. And thus, the unwinnable game of cat and mouse begins.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco had been doing so well. They'd scoured so much of the grounds, following phantom footsteps as the blond pretended to jump at every slight shift of the shadows. Each sudden exclamation that he'd seen something had, for some time, seemed to encourage the pair to keep going. They complained, accused him of wasting their time, but still followed him. He was certain he was going to pull it off.

But then they got tired of it. As if something switched inside of them, they decided that Draco was seeing things or, if he had seen someone, they were long gone. The Slytherin has tried to keep them with him, but they'd threatened him. The second those wands were pointing at him, with the promise that he'd regret it if he kept it up, Draco fell silent. It's not that he necessarily _wanted _to stop—he physically couldn't. Something inside of him was keeping his mouth clamped shut, desperately trying to avoid the pain.

That's how he finds himself following the siblings silently through the corridor, still trying to find a way to delay them further without raising any more suspicions. They seem quite happy to walk off on him, so anything that requires them to wait on him isn't going to work. Suddenly spotting someone won't either, not after all the time they just spent on that. Perhaps, if he could get them on the staircase, they might move and cause some problems there.

He doesn't get that chance. He doesn't get the chance to put any plan of action before the barely muffled tap-tap of footsteps echo through the corridor. Three stupid students turn the corner, freezing the second they spot the other trio of Death Eaters. Neville, Ginny and Luna look at the Carrows and Draco in horror; Draco looks at them in horror; the Carrows look in rage. There, in Neville's hands, not even concealed, is Godric Gryffindor's sword. _What_ were they thinking?

The other three students don't stand a chance, captured before they can even try and escape. Not that it would have done any good. The Carrows had already seen their faces by that point. Perhaps still angry at Draco, or pent up from the investigation, the professors seem quite impatient to give out punishments for such a theft. The trio is quickly subjected to the Carrows' eager torture—though the siblings don't settle for the readily available curse. Mentions of proper, official punishment isn't even brought up until the students look significantly beaten. Draco doesn't move. Once again, his cowardice keeps his frozen. Likely keeps him in one piece too, but he can't quite appreciate that as the guilt bubbles away. He can't look away either, hoping he doesn't look too sympathetic.

"Don't even think about going to Pomfrey." Amycus spits at the students. Alecto snatches the sword from Neville's weak hands. "If we notice you've healed faster, we'll inflict twice as much. Let that be a reminder for what happens if you try and steal from the Headmaster."

"If I may..." Finally, Draco's tongue loosens. He steps forwards, pushing all his emotions behind the wall. He doesn't even flinch when he glances down at the trio—though he does make sure to grimace at the Weasley for good measure. "The Forbidden Forest might be a suitable punishment for these three."

"Why don't you let us do our job, Malfoy, and go to your dormitory?" The brother sneers at Draco, seemingly severely unimpressed.

"Gladly but, I'm just saying, when I was made to attend that oaf Hagrid there as punishment, it traumatised me. I'm lucky I didn't die in there." There's a flicker in Amycus' eye, the slightest sign of contemplation. It had been a horrible experience for Draco but, in the long term, it hadn't been life-ruining. A visit to the Forbidden Forest might be horrible but, if he can convince the Carrows, at least they'll have Hagrid and be safer than at the hands of these two. "What they might see in there will be more horrifying than anything either of you could conjure up."

And, with that said, not wanting to push it further, Draco steps over the prone body of Luna Lovegood and hopes she's okay. He doesn't look back.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Philip can't sleep. Neville still hasn't returned and he's heard no word one way or another. The worry fills his veins, fighting off any signs of sleep. He can't even get comfortable in his bed, tossing and turning until some tired roommate tells him off. At that, he decides to go sit in the common room instead.

It's a good thing he does because, had he not come down there, he might not have seen Neville until the morning. The older boy is collapsed on the couch, head lowered as he faces the fire. Immediately, Philip knows this can't mean anything good. He approaches slowly, suddenly not wanting to know, content with only seeing Neville's back and living obliviously. But eventually he gets too close and the other Gryffindor looks up, revealing a sad, battered face.

"_Neville_!" Philip gasps involuntarily. His feet propel him forwards, closer to the couch. The growing bruises only become more visible with the closer proximity. His nose is caked with dried blood, smeared across his lips. One red eye, undoubtedly going to bruise, looks difficult to open as he squints up at Philip. "What happened?"

"The Carrows caught us. We almost got away with it, but then we ran into them and Malfoy." That immediate distrust towards the Slytherin rises within Philip and he frowns. He shouldn't have put his trust in Draco, not for anything that doesn't serve himself. "They beat us up, then told us we can't go to Madam Pomfrey for healing. Malfoy then left, but not before he told them to send us to the Forbidden Forest for punishment. So that's what we're doing tomorrow."

Philip doesn't know if that quells his distrust or not. But, he decides, there are more important things to worry about right now. He offers Neville a small smile, "Stay here. I'll be back."

Rushing back to the room, Philip grabs his box of tissues before returning to Neville. He sits down beside the other Gryffindor on the couch, who shuffles enough to look at Philip a little better. Placing the box beside him, the brunet summons some water within his cupped hand. It starts to seep through his fingers but, after dropping his wand, he quickly grabs a few tissues to soak it up. Once the water has wet the tissues, which he squeezes into a loose ball, he looks at Neville expectantly.

"We can't go to Pomfrey, but that doesn't mean you can't get cleaned up." Neville nods, which Philip takes as affirmation that he can continue. He presses the wad of tissue against Neville's nose before gently wiping to the side. All this does is wet the dry blood, smearing it further across the older boy's face. So Philip continues to wipe at it, pressing a little more firmly. Tiny pieces of tissue stick to his sticky skin. But, eventually, Neville's nose is clean. Philip moves to the lips which aren't as bad. Except for the fact that dragging the tissue across them pulls Neville's lips almost comically and both boys let out a soft chuckle.

"M'Sor–" Neville starts right as Philip presses the tissue against his mouth again. The boys laugh again, the tension slowly easing. "I'm sorry no one's letting Enoch into the Army. I trust your judgement but..."

"Everyone is just scared. I understand." Neville gives him a tight-lipped smile, mostly because the tissue is brushing his lips again. Philip puts the dirty tissue on his lap, wetting a new wad. With these tissues, he works on the few, faint smears left. With a clean tissue, this is an easy job. Discarding of the dirty tissues, he then picks the few pieces of tissue still clinging to Neville's cheek. "There. Good as new."

"Thanks, Philip." The younger pats Neville's shoulder softly as he gives him another smile. "I'm going to sit here for a little bit. You can stay, if you want."

The conversation quickly reaches a comfortable lull, both too tired to keep it up but not tired enough to want to go to bed. In the silence, staring blankly at the fireplace, Philip remembers he really needs to write a letter to Gee. He glances at Neville, who is also just staring into space, in the corner of his eye. She'd be pleased to know he's said more than 'hi'. 


	16. Chapter 15

Enoch has had Draco's necklace for a few weeks now. The blond doesn't know, hasn't even been told about it yet. It's not that Enoch is getting cold feet or not wanting to commit to anything like that—_he's not_. It's just nothing like the one Draco gave him, clearly inferior in quality, and his own charm feels incredibly weak on it. It's certainly not about to potentially save Draco's life, that's for sure. So, afraid to risk his pride, he puts it off. And then he puts it off some more.

Before he knows it, the Christmas break has snuck up on him. Draco has to go home for the break, as does Enoch, so their chances of seeing one another is going to become slim. It's now or never. Well, not really, but Enoch would like to do it before they leave. Even then, he doesn't gather the courage to do so until it's their final day.

The pair have met up by the lake, where it's too cold for anyone with half a brain to be loitering. Except for Draco and Enoch, who have more than half a brain but also a need for a relatively secluded area. Pressed up against the trees, they should be out of the view of anyone who might be out and about. The walk over proved the grounds are quite empty, so neither is particularly worried. Well, not about that.

Enoch is worried. He's got the chain of the necklace wrapped around his fist, pushed into his pocket. At this point, it's probably obvious what he's got, but still he puts it off. Stupidly, he comments on how cold the snow is. Perfect. Just perfect.

"I actually... I got the necklace but it has to be a temporary one because it's not what I want it to be. Because I had to ask them to spend less money, otherwise I'd have to explain myself better and I didn't want to risk that, so just... later, when I can tell them what I'm doing, I'll get you another, okay?"

"It's okay." Draco reassures him with a warm smile. This encourages the younger to withdraw his hand from his pocket, letting the necklace drop and hang in the air. At the end of a thin, rose gold chain is a rose of the same metal. The chain connects to the stem, with the flower hanging downwards. In each joint of the stem is a small garnet, dark against the pale rose gold; the casing of each garnet is slightly spiked, resembling thorns. It doesn't move, not like Draco's, and it is detailed only so much as is required to be recognisable. The most intricate detailing are the separate petals.

"If anyone touches it, without you allowing them to, they'll get a small electric shock. I didn't know what I was supposed to charm it with, because I couldn't ask, so I just chose whatever felt appropriate." Enoch adds, gesturing vaguely at the necklace with his free hand.

"You worry too much. It's wonderful. I don't know what an _electric_ shock is, but I can guess." Draco responds, gently touching the rose. A smile tugs at Enoch's lips, relieved. He unclasps the necklace, putting it on the older boy. With his arms still wrapped around Draco's neck, the Slytherin pulls him closer into a tight hug. The smell of roses mixes with petrichor, earthy but sweet. Their time is running out. "Merry Christmas, Enoch."

"Merry Christmas, Draco."  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  


Being at home is strange. There's no danger, no need to sneak around there. It's nice, but unfamiliar. Enoch can't even relax watching his favourite movie, too afraid someone is about to catch him for something. The emotions are quieter too. He hadn't realised he'd gotten so used to the constant undercurrents of fear, not until he could no longer feel them and realised how empty it feels. As a result, he finds himself keeping himself in his family's company, desperately reaching for their emotions.

On the third day of his return, _Christmas _day of all days, his grandmother decides they're going fishing at the nearby lake. Enoch begrudgingly comes with, because he doesn't have much choice or anything better to do. It's just the two of them, which wasn't suspicious until, after their lines are out, his grandma turns to him with a small smile.

"So," She says conspiratorially, with the air of someone who found out your secret and wants you to know that. It doesn't help that her emotions are buzzing with a similar, if milder, sort of excitement. "You and Draco are courting, are you?"

Enoch curses whatever strange powers of intuition she possesses. He nods, figuring there's no point in denying it now.

"How did you figure that out?"

"You forget I'm a Pureblood. The second I saw what we were buying you, I knew what it was." Enoch sighs, whacking his forehead as he realises what tiny yet incredibly important detail he'd overlooked. "It's okay. I haven't said anything. You know, your Pépé and I courted behind our parents back. We even went so far as to get engaged before we told our parents."

"We're not getting engaged..."

"I know. But I just want you to know, you can talk to me. Or you can not, I won't hold it against you." Valérie reaches over to ruffle Enoch's hair fondly.

"Does Maman know?"

"If she does, she hasn't said anything. And she won't, not until you tell her yourself."

"I don't think I can. Not yet." Enoch pulls his legs up so he can tuck his chin on his knees. A soft sigh leaves his lips. He's glad to have someone to talk to, he can't deny that. But it does remind him of how difficult everything is.

"I know of their situation. But I've also met Draco and Narcissa—I know they're not bad people." The younger nods his head. "Whatever you need to do, just remember I'm supporting you and I love you. It's my job, as your grandma."

"Thank you."

"Well, come on then, show me what he gave you." Enoch obliges, pulling the dragon out from under his shirt. He places it on the palm of his hand, giving it a surface to stretch out on. Draco has assured him that the pendant isn't actually alive and can't feel anything, but Enoch still keeps getting worried. Especially as he watches it stretch out as if it's aware it was confined and frozen for a significant amount of time. "Oh, that's beautiful."

"It is." Enoch pokes the dragon's nose, which seems to startle it. He's still not convinced it doesn't feel emotions. "It can sense poison too, sometimes."

"Do you know what our charm is?" Enoch shakes his head, now worried he might learn how abysmal his was in comparison. "It pricks anyone who tries to grab it, like a thorn. Sometimes particularly adept charmers, like my father, might also charm the stem to wrap around the attacker's hand like a thorny chain."

"I just made it mildly electrocute someone." Enoch sighs, but his grandma shakes her head.

"You can't be any worse than me. I knew full well what I was supposed to charm it, but I just charmed it to always smell like roses." Valérie chuckles softly as she shakes her head, clearly reminiscing. "It's amazing my parents didn't disown me. But they loved Benoît, and me; they were just a bit more traditional."

Their conversation is interrupted by the tugging of Valérie's rod. She starts reeling it in, fighting the fish. Enoch watches about the most exciting part of fishing with mild interest. The whole struggle doesn't last very long, as it's only a small fish against a strong grandmother. The fish is too small to keep, so the older woman just unhooks it and throws it back into the water. But, as the fish is making its great flight back to the lake, a large bird swoops down and catches it. The bird—an owl—lands on one of the nearby wooden poles on the pier, fish trapped beneath its claws.

"It's Owlexander." Enoch comments as he recognises the large bird. He gets to his feet to approach him.

"And who is that?"

"Draco's owl." The owl holds his leg out for Enoch to take the letter from its case. Once the letter is retrieved, Owlexander focuses on the struggling fish. It doesn't struggle for much longer, turning into the bird's breakfast. Enoch turns his attention to the letter, which is written in a rather messy scrawl for the blond boy.

_Enoch,_

_I'm so sorry..._   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco had been given one day of reprieve. He had been given one day to enjoy as much of his parents' company as he could, one day to settle into his home before it was taken away from him. That was the closest he got to having a proper Christmas. The Dark Lord invaded his home, tainted it with his presence, before Christmas even truly came.

Even the dinner on Christmas Eve is taken over by him. What would have been a relatively enjoyable dinner amongst friends and family is turned into a meeting between some of the inner circle of his followers. Snape and Bellatrix are in attendance, but they were invited. The Dark Lord, sitting at the head of the table, was not. Of course, no one can say anything about it. Draco has to pretend he's perfectly welcome, has to _feel _like he's welcome.

The food in front of him is probably delicious. It looks delicious. But Draco lacks the appetite to enjoy it. He pushes it around his plate, occasionally taking the smallest possible mouthful. He's not following the conversation that's occurring, though soon he finds himself being dragged right into it.

"Draco," comes the cold voice from the head of the table. Draco looks up, first to his mother, and then to the Dark Lord. "I hear you've made a friend... A Desrosiers, correct?"

Draco feels his blood run cold. He can't even keep his emotions behind the wall, the dam cracking just enough for the fear to slip through.

"We have a class together. We have to work together in Alchemy." Draco responds, desperately trying to avoid talking about their relationship. He looks to Snape who is as unreadable as ever.

"And who is this Desrosiers? One of ours? I don't believe I'm familiar with the name."

"He's from a French Pureblood family, though his mother married a Muggle." Snape speaks up, sparing a brief glance towards the blond boy across from him. Draco hopes the look is saying what he thinks it's saying: _trust me_. "He was homeschooled up until last year because he seems to possess some rare empath powers."

Draco isn't so sure he read that look right now. He certainly doesn't trust whatever Snape's plan might be. Why would he say that? As far as the blond has been able to tell, Enoch's abilities have been a fairly well kept secret. And now Snape is telling the most dangerous man Draco knows about them.

"And what can he do with these powers?"

"He can sense emotions and, while untrained, manipulate them. The full extent of his powers, however, are unknown." The Dark Lord sits there, silently pondering this information. Each second that passes feels like agony, a special kind of torture on its own. Eventually, still without saying a word, completely unreadable, he gets to his feet and travels to Draco's seat. The blond can hear his pulse thump in his ears. It's just about all he can hear, the rapid _thumpthumpthump_. It only worsens as a cold hand touches his shoulder, then his neck, before hooking around the chain around his neck.

The Dark Lord's grip on it slips, dropping it suddenly as if it shocked him. Draco hopes it did. But it doesn't deter him enough from attempting to pull it from Draco's shirt again. This time he's successful, pulling the necklace out for everyone to see.

"Just classmates, you say?" Draco doesn't know what keeps him holding onto the tiny shreds of composure he has. The guilt, fear, frustration, anger all start to roll around his stomach in a sickening mess. There's a lump in his throat, tight and painful. He looks to his mother, hoping to find something that might help him there. She looks shocked. The Dark Lord notices the shock on both his parents' face and, the blond assumes, is enjoying it. "Oh, I hope I didn't spoil a surprise."

There's a pause. Heavy silence fills the gap. The _thumpthumpthump_ breaks the silence.

"No, My Lord, we just–" Narcissa looks from Draco to her husband, and then back to the Dark Lord. "We hadn't planned on announcing anything yet. It's still only early days, after all."

If Draco wasn't so terrified and paralysed, he might have just cried.

"Hmm," is all the Dark Lord says at first, dropping the necklace. The rose drops against Draco's, the heaviest it has ever felt. Enoch is going to hate him. "Well, I certainly hope he's one of ours. After all, it would be unfortunate to have to end such a relationship so soon after it's begun."

The Dark Lord sits back down and resumes dinner as if nothing has happened. If Draco had had little appetite before, he certainly has none now. He can't even bring himself to pretend to eat, limbs like jelly. His entire body is unresponsive. He's struggling to even think. He knows he's failed. That's about all his brain is giving him. _Failure, failure, failure_. He can't do anything right. He can't even protect Enoch, keep their relationship hidden. He'd almost think he was cursed, if he wasn't so certain he's just one big failure.

Eventually, the Dark Lord retires, with Snape not far behind him. Draco still doesn't move. His parents are both looking at him. He should say something, but he doesn't know what to say. He hadn't thought he'd have to deal with this so soon.

"We're going to have to have a talk." Narcissa says gently, while Lucius just watches. The gentle tone breaks whatever was holding Draco together and he feels something warm slide down his cheek. The lump in his throat grows more painful, feeling like it might be choking him. Somewhere during the time it takes the blond to hang his head in his hands, his mother moves around the table and takes a seat beside him. She wraps an arm around him, pulling him as close as their chairs allow. "We don't have to do it now. Would you rather do it later?"

Draco nods, as that's about all he can manage.

"We're not disappointed or upset with you, Draco. I want you to know that. We love you very, _very _much." Narcissa pulls away only to look at Lucius. "Isn't that right?"

For the first time that evening, the older Malfoy springs to life as he quickly nods, "Yes– Of course."

"But, for now, let's go up to your room. I'll have some hot chocolate made for you." Draco only manages to make it to his room with his mother guiding him, and that only makes him feel worse. All the love she gives him feels undeserved, even if he desperately needs it.

But, in that moment, with the fear that Enoch's life might be in danger, Draco's fear of the Dark Lord grows into hatred. After Narcissa has left, that stewing and plotting is about all that keeps him afloat in an fairly sleepless night. 


	17. Chapter 16

The Malfoy Manor is pristine, the kind of put-together that can only be achieved through heavy maintenance. The bushes are perfectly trimmed, the grass is short and even. And, right up the centre of the path, sits a large house. Despite its groomed appearance, the manor maintains an otherwise gloomy atmosphere. Perhaps it's just because it's overcast, but it carries a foreboding, dark air.

Valérie holds onto Enoch's hand as they approach the gates. Benoît is on her other side but, unlike her grandson, he isn't panicking. In fact, he seems slightly distracted by the bushes. The youngest Desrosiers hasn't let go of his grandmother's hand since they apparated, clinging tightly to her as his eyes remain glued ahead of him. The contact is starting to mess with her emotions, but she decides not to tell him. She's always taken it as a sign that his own control is slipping, due to one strong emotion or another.

As the gates open for them, so do the doors of the house; a small figure steps through before pausing at the entrance. He looks as agitated as Enoch feels, like he wants to run away but can't as two more figures join him. The Malfoys wait as the Desrosiers close the gap. As that distance grows shorter and shorter, Enoch's grip on Valérie's hand only grows tighter. A quick glance at him shows that the brunet is managing to maintain some external composure, but only barely.

"Mr and Mrs Desrosiers, Enoch, I'm so glad you could make it." Narcissa greets them once they're close enough, voice full of warmth. Valérie can hear the strain at the edge, the same stress they're all feeling. But she shakes all their hands, offers them smiles, and makes them feel as welcome as possible. Lucius, on the other hand, looks detached; a glass of wine rests within his thin fingers, a vacant stare in his eyes. When it comes his turn to shake hands, his lips turn up into a shakily forced but polite smile. Draco hangs back, silent. He looks exhausted. There's a bandaid pressed against his jaw, more on his hands. "We have tea in our sitting room."

The inside of the manor is as impeccably clean and organised as the outside. It carries an air of wealth, but also the air of something that has stopped being cared for in recent times. As they head to the sitting room, the group passes a room with all the furniture pushed against one wall, leaving only space for a long table. It does not feel like a home should.

But the sitting room is warm, thanks to the fireplace, and feels the most homely of all the rooms. Above the fireplace is pictures of the family, some proper family photos while others simply candid photos of a young Draco and his parents. Narcissa has them sit on the couch closest to the fire, before she pours them all a cup of tea each. Only once everyone has a cup, does she sit down and seem to calm ever so slightly. She lets out a soft exhalation, giving them another smile.

"Now, it has come to our attention that our children have begun the courtship process. Which would be excellent news if it wasn't for the way we found out." Narcissa pauses, looking between the two children. She doesn't seem to be reprimanding—concerned, maybe, but not disappointed. "Not that the courting itself isn't excellent—it is wonderful that our sons have formed such a close bond in these... times. But, well, there are some factors that put us in a tricky situation."

"Draco's letter told us You-Know-Who is aware of it." Valérie feels Enoch's grip tighten once more, as he still hasn't let go. Narcissa nods once, expression turning grim for the briefest of moments.

"Yes, he is aware. Now, I only want to best for our children and I understand the gravity of what I am about to suggest _but_ I think it would be in our best interests, currently, if we sped the courtship along. I think it might be better for Draco and Enoch to get engaged." No one looks completely comfortable with the suggestion. "Of course, I don't want to pressure any of you into making such an important decision and I want you all to know that, due to the nature of such an engagement, if it didn't work out in the long run, there would be no shame in it." Narcissa takes a sip of her tea, before she looks to Valérie. "Would you mind if the boys walked the grounds while we walked more privately?"

"If Enoch is happy to..." The older Desrosiers looks to her grandson, who nods slowly as he withdraws his hand. He gets to his feet, before placing his untouched cup on the table between the couches. Draco does the same, if a little slower. The blond extends his arm to Enoch, who accepts it, and the pair leave the room. Narcissa's expressions drops to a more somber one the second they've left, wringing her hands together. She looks older—though that is expected—and more tired since the last time Valérie met her. Back then, she was just a young woman learning medicine in France at her family's request. Now, she seems to be a competent lady of the house, if an understandably stressed one.

"I'm sorry his parents couldn't be here but I hope you understand, given the circumstances, you are going to have to step in as guardian in these issues." The older woman nods. She had already promised to fill the other two in the second she returned, though she had been given permission to make any decisions on their behalf. While she worked on this business, they would be working on ensuring their home is as protected from the Dark Lord as it can be. "Like I said, I understand this is a lot to ask but... I think the union would be in the best interests of the _longevity_ of both our families. We both only have one heir that cares... _a lot_ for the other."

Valérie nods. She understands the undercurrents of these words: their lines—their children—are in danger where they are now.

"There– There is the issue of blood." Lucius speaks up, waving his glass vaguely, almost as an afterthought. Narcissa looks to him for a brief second, frowning, before she nods.

"Yes, well, Lucius and I discussed it and it's easily fixed. Naturally, Draco and Enoch can't have children together so, to produce a heir, they will need a surrogate. To maintain the purity of the Malfoys and Blacks, the heir of those families will have to use a suitable Pureblood for surrogacy." Narcissa pauses to offer Valérie a comforting smile. Benoît looks just about ready to say something, but his wife places a hand over his to tell him to wait. "Of course, that's not to say we won't accept Enoch producing any children with a surrogate should they choose. Any of their children, no matter the biology, will be family. _But_, our families have very strict rules and this is the best compromise we can form at the moment... Which may change after more time has passed, it's a long while before we expect either of the boys to be in that position."

"Enoch will also have to align himself with our families' values as well... Or else he may not be accepted by _them_." Lucius comments, less detached. He's watching the Desrosiers carefully, while Narcissa nods her head softly. Once again, Valérie senses a second meaning.

Narcissa's smile grows a little more firm before she continues, "I want to assure you, no matter what decision is made today, I consider Enoch as good as family. Draco cares strongly for him and I wouldn't do anything to come between that bond, nor would I let anyone else do so... to the best of my ability."

Valérie looks towards Benoît, sharing a silent conversation with him. They're both aware of what is really happening, of the threats that have arisen. Valérie doesn't doubt her abilities, nor does she doubt her husband or child, or even grandchild. But even she can't deny that, if You-Know-Who decided he wanted to use Enoch against Draco, she's not sure she'd be confident in her abilities to keep the man away from him.

"If Enoch is fine with it, I have no reason to stop him." The Malfoys, especially Narcissa, seem to visibly relax. Narcissa's smile grows a little warmer, a little less tense.

"I'm so pleased to hear that. Thank you."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Draco and Enoch have walked out past the path and into the snow in silence, following the blond's lead. Enoch isn't even sure the older boy realises he's the leader, or that he's left the path. He just seems to be walking wherever his feet take him. Enoch can feel his emotions, a turbulent mess of fear and sadness. He doesn't know what to do, except for taking those emotions away.

"I'm sorry." The blond says eventually, his voice small and sad. He stops walking to turn towards Enoch, but doesn't look up from the ground. "I don't know what happened but... I failed. Again. I'm so sorry."

"You haven't failed." Enoch reaches up to place a hand on Draco's cheek but the blond pulls away before contact can be made. "_Mon Loup_."

"I have to feel these emotions. I'm sorry."

"What are you feeling?"

"I'm– I'm feeling..." Draco falters, withdrawing in on himself momentarily. His emotions subdue unnaturally, only to flare up as they break through the wall. "Anger and sadness, frustration and guilt. _Fear_. I'm so scared, Enoch."

"It'll be okay." Draco allows Enoch to touch his shoulder. The younger makes a conscious effort to leave the emotions alone, no matter how much they hurt. "You're not alone. We're going to get through this together."

The Slytherin sniffles, though he's not crying. _Yet_. Nodding his head slowly, he finally looks up from the ground. He looks so tired. Almost as bad as last year, right when things were going from bad to worse. So tired, so close to defeat.

"What are your thoughts... about what they're discussing in there?" His voice is soft, uncomfortable.

"I could think of worse people to get engaged to." Draco doesn't laugh.

"It'll only be for as long as the Dark Lord is watching us so intensely." The blond assures him, the guilt growing within him. Enoch keeps the wall between their emotions. "I hope that won't be forever. I don't want to trap you with me... or live like this for so long."

"I'm not trapped." Enoch isn't sure Draco believes him. He hopes his sincerity is clear, but whether the older boy registers it or not is another story. Distracting his hands, pulling away from his shoulder without breaking contact completely, the brunet fixes Draco's collar. Not that it's messy, but it makes him feel better. "Well then... if we're still courting, what would we normally be doing right now?"

Draco pauses, still caught up in his guilt. Then, he gestures vaguely at the air in front of him. "I'd be showing you the property. We'd be enjoying the time away from adults, unattended."

"Then let's do that." Enoch offers Draco a small smile, what he hopes is a comforting one. He still feels scared—completely terrified. But so is Draco. So is all the adults back in there. They're all terrified. And Enoch might not be a Gryffindor, but he'll try to be brave. For all of them.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The rings are a surprisingly simple affair. Simple compared to the necklaces, at least. Benoît has the Desrosiers' ring already on him, though there is a brief moment where they're all terrified that he might have misplaced it. But, fortunately, it's just in his other pocket. (_"I never put anything in that pocket," he claims._). The Malfoys, naturally, also have their family ring nearby.

Enoch goes first, slipping the silver ring on Draco's thin finger. His ring is composed of two twisted silver vines, continuing the floral theme with a rose blossoming in the centre. A small sapphire rests in the middle of the flower—a promise of loyalty and honesty.

Draco then gives Enoch his ring: a silver band with a sapphire snake inlaid into its surface. The band goes on easily, loose, but then tightens to fit Enoch's finger comfortably. It's still heavy against his skin, a foreign sensation. It doesn't feel _wrong_, necessarily, but it definitely feels strange. Draco seems to be feeling a similar sort of confused discomfort. But, underneath all that, the roses remain.

And, simple as that, Enoch and Draco become engaged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I am up to date with all the chapters I got behind on. Updates will hopefully become a more regular thing (as in, not in a giant spam like this) from here on in unless I forget again (which I am liable to do, I'm pretty forgetful)


	18. Chapter 17

Draco can't look at Enoch's parents. He knows they don't blame him; Odeda whispered as much as she welcomed him with an unexpected hug. But he still can't help but feel so incredibly guilty every time he makes eye contact with them.

The Malfoys and the Desrosiers have gathered for dinner at their home, which should have technically occurred prior to the official engagement but Enoch's father made that difficult. Fortunately, at the insistence of the Malfoys, under claims that it is a necessity for the courtship to remain respectable and proper, regardless of Enoch's blood, the dinner had to occur. And, as far as anyone was aware—and by anyone, Draco means the Dark Lord—Alistair was _supposed_ to be out this evening. Of course, he isn't and no one seems to mind, though Draco's parents took as much adjusting as Draco had. The blond suspects their levels of tolerance are skewed these days as the survival of the family takes over whether or not someone is considered lesser.

The only person Draco thinks is any lesser is the Dark Lord, though it terrifies him to even entertain the idea for too long.

Draco is sure the dinner is delicious. He picks at his stew, feeling even more guilty that he can't enjoy the meal properly with his lack of appetite. The small mouthful he takes tastes good, but soon rests heavily in his stomach.

Enoch sits across from Draco, in between his parents. His suit is definitely not new—at least a year or two old, depending on when Enoch stopped growing. He's got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and earlier Draco noticed the trousers don't even fit him properly. Merlin, he hopes it's not a personal preference. He'll definitely make sure the younger has a tailored suit by the time the party comes around. Not that he wants to be thinking about that right now. That doesn't make him feel any better.

"Odeda," Narcissa says, because they're already on a first name basis. Draco isn't sure when that happened—maybe during the introductions. "You work in the Ministry, don't you?"

"I do. I'm in Magical Creatures." Odeda answers with a soft smile. She carries herself with the poise befitting of a proper Pureblood; Draco already knows his parents would approve of her as a mother-in-law. Meanwhile Alistair seems to be describing muggle medicine to Lucius, who seems surprisingly interested in the subject. At the very least, he's listening and present in the conversation, which is a change. Draco is glad the adults seem to be coping. He wonders what they all feel like, underneath the small talk.

Enoch is watching Draco. The blond knows this because thinking about emotions caused him to think of Enoch and, in turn, look at him. The younger is already looking at him and offers a small smile when they make eye contact. It seems like a polite smile more than anything, a conscious effort to make his expression look lighter, so Draco doesn't feel bad when he struggles to give anything more than a thin curl of his lips in response. He doesn't feel like he deserves Enoch's smiles, forced or not.

One day, he'd really just like to succeed in something he'd set out to do. He hasn't managed it yet, and when he has it's been because of someone else. For someone who was supposed to be so talented and skilled, as the heir to the Malfoy family, Draco feels pretty useless.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


Enoch's dinner is filled with vinegar and brine. The stew isn't supposed to be that bitter but every mouthful is full of it. The empath isn't sure what to focus on, to ignore the flavour of the emotions, as the emotions are overpowering everything else. While he doubts it's all coming from the blond, he is pretty sure Draco is the cause of a lot of the emotions. He doesn't blame him—even he's been feeling this way lately.

He cried when he got home after getting engaged. His parents assured him everything was okay but it didn't mean everything _felt_ okay. He still feels like he's betrayed them in some way, though he's glad they've managed to find a way to keep his parents involved. That seems to be going well enough, even if everyone feels so tense. It'd be hard not to when the only reason this is happening is a foul, evil Who-Cares-Who is threatening to kill Enoch.

But, unlike Draco, Enoch clings to the positives of the situation. Their parents are interacting and, for a pair of muggle-hating Purebloods, the Malfoys don't seem to be disgusted by his father's presence. They even shook his hand. That has to count for something.

Enoch doesn't know how to silently communicate these positives to Draco. Especially not when the blond is so absorbed with the stew that hasn't even made it to his lips this whole time– Oh wait, no, Draco did just take a sip. A rather pathetic sip, but a sip no less. The spoon, that still has food in it, resumes scooping at the otherwise untouched bowl. Draco's expression curls into a sad grimace and the guilt thickens on Enoch's tongue.

Draco looks up for a brief moment but Enoch doesn't have enough time to do anything other than give him a thin smile in response. He's still struggling with the emotions, but doesn't want to let Draco know that. The blond responds with a similarly tight smile before he gets lost in his thoughts again. The guilt increases. Enoch might be sick soon.

The Hufflepuff nudges Draco with his foot, pressing the tip of his sneaker against the undoubtedly custom dress shoe. The blond glances up again, the guilt lessening to be replaced with confused curiosity. God, he looks tired. Enoch just knows he's not sleeping properly. But he can't do much more than press his foot against Draco's. He doesn't know what else to do. Be strong, Enoch. How does he be strong? He's barely even holding himself up.

He gives Draco another smile. It's well-intended but insincere as he doesn't really feel like smiling. His own guilt inside starts to bubble up.   
  
  
  
  
  


**. . .**  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It's amazing how many people a party can attract. The Malfoy Manor is full of people—in every room, there's a decent gathering of other wizards. And Enoch knows ten of them. His grandparents came, of course, as his legal guardians; then Elijah was the only other eligible person he could invite. Other than that, he only knows Draco's parents and friends.

Enoch is glad to see Elijah again, but he wishes it wasn't for his own forced engagement party, surrounded by god knows how many Death Eaters, where he has to smile and pretend everything is okay. Elijah have him a tight hug the second he saw him, so tight Enoch is surprised it even came from the scrawny boy. That, at least, made him feel a little better. Now, he sticks to his side for as much as he can, unless he gets dragged off to meet a relative or other equally important individual.

"I can't believe you got _engaged_ and didn't tell me until the party." Elijah lightly scolds the brunet, gently hitting his shoulder. In that brief contact, Enoch feels the fear running underneath all Elijah's other emotions. He's probably aware of how many sharks they're surrounded by. "That's what your courtship questions were for, weren't they? Merlin, I practically got you guys engaged!"

"We wanted to keep it all quiet."

"Yeah, this is really quiet..." Elijah trails off as another guest walks past, congratulating Enoch on her way by. Enoch shakes her hand but has no idea who she is. He doesn't know where Draco is either, so no introductions can be made and she moves on quickly. "Merlin, Draco Malfoy... I still can't quite believe it. _The _Draco Malfoy. Like, _him_."

As if on cue, perhaps summoned by the mention of his name, the blond Slytherin makes his appearance. He's closely followed by Theo, who seems to be enjoying the party far more than anyone else. He gets distracted briefly by a floating platter of drinks.

"Benton." Draco greets Elijah, offering a handshake. The Hufflepuff hesitates—there's a brief flash of concern, of nerves—but he quickly accepts. His smile quivers, almost lost. Enoch can't help but remember the time the mention of the blond sent Elijah into a panic—and sent Enoch to the Hospital Wing. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for letting me come." Draco's lips curl into a small smile. There's no happiness in his emotions. He looks between the pair, a small frown replacing the smile.

"Why are you both standing in the corner?" He asks, now addressing Enoch.

"It's quieter." Now there's some mild amusement attached to Draco's smile as he shakes his head. It isn't much, but Enoch will take it.

"I've had to greet so many guests, I think my hand is about to fall off. Some thought I was marrying Theo which is... disgusting."

"I'm hurt, Draco." Theo responds dryly as he rolls his eyes at the blond. Draco seems unfazed.

"They like the ring by the way." Draco continues as he looks at Enoch. He then glances at Elijah, holding his hand up to show off the ring. The rose glints softly against his pale fingers. "Has Enoch shown you his ring?"

"He did." Elijah responds, leaving out the fact that he'd all but begged to see it. Enoch had forgotten it was something you're supposed to show off. He's still not sure if he feels comfortable enough with it to show it off. "It's very nice. Both of them are."

Draco nods his head slowly, hand dropping back to his side.

"I think we're doing something soon but if we pretend it was harder to find you, we can stand here longer." The blond informs them, which seems to get Theo's attention again. Unfortunately, he's also part-way through drinking and can't say anything immediately. He clearly wants to, though, and makes sure everyone knows. Everyone then has to watch him finish his drink before he starts.

"That was my idea."

"You didn't say it."

"I did before, when we were walking over."

"But not here." Draco gestures at the Hufflepuff pair. "I was informing them of your plan."

This seems to satisfy Theo, but only slightly. Enoch is pleased to note that, during the interaction, Elijah's nerves seem to have settled ever so slightly. He doesn't seem as fearful as he had been when the two Slytherins approached. This improves as the conversation, which lessens quite a bit, continues; Draco lets Theo take over the conversation, making small talk about how good the snacks are and how awful his Christmas was. Enoch is glad for this because, once they all agree they've wasted as much time as they can, Draco drags Enoch away and leaves Elijah in the company of Theo. The younger doesn't seem half as concerned as he might've been at the start of the conversation.

The event is speeches. Enoch immediately cursed Draco for not warning him, but the blond seems equally surprised. They both watch as Narcissa and Lucius join the boys at the front of the group. Narcissa offers them a soft smile before she turns to the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming to celebration the union of Malfoy and Desrosiers." She says, voice ringing clear and confident throughout the room. "We are very lucky and glad to have Enoch as a son-in-law-to-be. It's a pleasure to celebrate this with all of you."

"Yes, a pleasure." Lucius follows after receiving a glance from Narcissa. "Thank you."

Fortunately neither Draco or Enoch is asked to make a speech. Instead, they stand there as others do. Throughout the speech, at some point between one stranger and another's, Draco ends up taking Enoch's hand in his own. The brunet isn't sure how much is for show and how much is genuine, but he's grateful for the contact nonetheless.

Eventually, the speeches end. Unfortunately, it also means the party has come to an end and the guests must depart. Enoch is only able to say goodbye to Elijah, which involves another tight hug.

"Don't study too much. Make sure you take care of yourself." Enoch whispers, unwilling to let Elijah go.

"Make sure _you _take care of yourself. You're in a dangerous spot." The fear and concern runs between them and Enoch is no longer sure where his ends and the other boy's begins. "Write to me more often, so I know you're okay. And don't forget I'm smart—I'm pretty good at reading."

"Do you know French?"

"Do fish need water?" Elijah scoffs. "Only conversational, though. Don't send me anything crazy."

"Noted. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Enoch unwillingly pulls away from Elijah and lets him leave. He then goes to find Draco to say goodbye to the rest of the guests.

The house feels a lot emptier with so few people. Lonelier. It doesn't help with Enoch's mood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Gee & the gang ): I'm glad I managed to work Elijah in for a little appearance
> 
> I need to learn to stop promising regular updates. It curses me every single time. Sorry for being so absent. I promise, even if I disappear for like months on end, I haven't abandoned this fic. I've probably just forgotten to update it or gotten distracted


End file.
